


After the End

by Sundial_at_Night



Series: Another Name [4]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Fix-It, Gen, Good Loki (Marvel), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Loki (Marvel) Has Issues, Loki (Marvel) Lives, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Loki (Marvel) is a Good Bro, Loki (Marvel)-centric, No Slash, No Smut, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Panic Attacks, Post-Avengers Shawarma Scene, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Siblings, Protective Thor (Marvel), Protectiveness, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, Thor (Marvel) Needs a Hug, Thor (Marvel) is Not Stupid, Thor (Marvel) is a Good Bro, i don't know why those are separate tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:14:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24413431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sundial_at_Night/pseuds/Sundial_at_Night
Summary: After the battle in Endgame, Thor and Loki return to New Asgard and start to pick up the pieces of where they left off. There's a lot to talk about and it's about time that they do that.Also: Endgame left a few loose threads.
Relationships: Brunnhilde | Valkyrie & Thor (Marvel), Heimdall & Thor (Marvel), James "Bucky" Barnes & Loki, Loki & Nebula (Marvel), Loki & Stephen Strange, Loki & Steve Rogers, Loki & Thor (Marvel)
Series: Another Name [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1739896
Comments: 44
Kudos: 433





	1. Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> So... this was originally supposed to be an epilogue, but then one thing led to another and then five chapters later, "Okay. FIne. This is its own thing now." It can still be read as a stand-alone; all you need to know is that Bruce brought back all the Asgardians who died on the _Statesman_ as well as those who died in the snap.
> 
> _  
> _Enjoy!__  
> 

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Return to New Asgard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! This is the final work in this series. Originally, Another Name was just supposed to be a one shot, but somehow I’m here, four works and over 20,000 self-indulgent words later. Crazy stuff.
> 
> Enjoy!

After the battle, nobody had any idea what to do. The heroes were in total chaos, miles from home with no certain way to get back there. The Wakandans were more than happy to accommodate many of them, but the wizard had brought _armies_ to the fight. Wakanda was generous, spacious, and overall, nearly advanced as Asgard was before Ragnarök, but they had a whole host of their own problems to deal with before taking care of everyone else. So, they took in the Avengers, but no more than that.

The Ravagers followed the lead of the Guardians, taking their ships and lazily orbiting the earth in space where they felt the most comfortable; they weren’t sure how Earth would respond to so many aliens all at once. They were right to get out early because General Ross appeared less than an hour later with an army and full intentions to arrest every one of them. He didn’t get far with that. Fury arrived shortly after him and (with only a little threatening from Danvers) managed to force Ross to back off.

Strange, though evidently exhausted, created portals for the Wakandan army and his fellow wizards to go home. Everyone seemed seconds away from passing out now that the adrenaline had worn off, but the Compound was gone, reduced to a smouldering pile of broken concrete and twisted steel. They had nowhere to go.

The Spider child, Peter, stayed with Pepper and Rhodey until Stark’s body was taken away, then they followed him, clinging to each other in their loss.

The Stones… Thor wasn’t sure what had happened to the Stones. He guessed the wizard took them as well, but there was little evidence of that. After Stark snapped, they simply disappeared somewhere along in the chaos.

Usually, after a large battle such as this, a cleanup crew would arrive and manage some of the destruction. There was no cleanup team, only a wrecked battlefield and the remains of Thanos’ ship coming out of the lake.

Which left Asgard.

Strange made a portal for them to New Asgard, which was completely overcrowded with citizens as if there was a festival going on. If the rest of the world was a circus after having half of their population snap back into existence, Asgard was three times _worse_ (not that Thor was complaining); they regained three-quarters of their population in a heartbeat. Thanos had taken half aboard the _Statesman,_ then half of what remained with the first snap. So yes, it was an overcrowded, chaotic mess.

Thor’s presence seemed to calm them, however, and soon enough, he had a plan with the assistance of Brunnhilde. The school would be converted into a temporary shelter until they could find or build homes for everyone. A few also had family in New Asgard, so they could go with them if they wanted to. Thor delegated the task of taking a census to Korg, who was more than happy to help.

It was sunny outside, the air crisp, clean, and _cold._ A few clouds dotted the blue sky, but there was nothing that threatened rain. That was good. Asgard had experienced far too much rain over the past few years. The air smelled like fish, salt, and like the engines mortals used to make their machines run. It smelled like _home._

The people, both those dusted by Thanos and slain by him in battle, gaped at the appearance of Loki and Heimdall. Thor did his best to make them give them space, but their heroes had returned, and there was only so much Thor could do to stop them. Loki and Heimdall had publicly been honoured for their efforts in the battle against Thanos on the _Statesman_ five years ago. They weren’t _legends,_ but they had the people’s thanks and respect.

Heimdall muttered responses to their appreciation, following the Valkyrie, who was yelling at them to get out of the way. She was good at it—the yelling, that is—and they backed off after a moment. Loki all but hid behind him, steering clear of everyone who came up to him. Thor intermittently worried his brother was about to vanish in a puff of smoke, off to another realm without so much as a goodbye.

Thor could safely say that nobody apart from Asgard’s people and the Avengers was happy with Loki being there. Which was fine. Neither of the brothers cared; Thor was just happy that he was _here,_ and Loki just wanted to sleep. Leaving the census to Korg, the Asgardians who fought against Thanos made their way home, tired, dirty, bloody, and some wounded.

Eir did not allow them to do that so easily. Brunnhilde was all right—tired and covered in blood and gore like the rest of them, but she was uninjured, a result of being in the air for most of the battle. Thor was _mostly_ fine. He was bruised and had several cracked ribs that ached any time he took a step, and a few flesh wounds that had, for the most part, closed. But nothing too serious. Loki, according to Eir, was _tired._ He had strained his magic beyond what was considered safe and looked seconds away from passing out on the examination table. What had been five years for Thor had been five _minutes_ for his younger brother, who had skipped straight from the battle and his death on the _Statesman_ to fighting Thanos’ armies on Earth. Even though he had been healed, Thor knew now how exhausting prolonged battle could be on the mind.

So, the head healer of Asgard had bandaged their minor cuts and scabs, and sent them on their way home, _ordering_ them to rest. Thor had zero problems with that. Brunnhilde disappeared into her house, the one next to Thor’s, muttering something about not bothering her while she slept.

Thor continued to where his house was near the water. It was a simple cabin, given to him by one of the fishermen who lived in the town before Asgard arrived. Not a golden palace, but it was fine. He could almost say he appreciated the lack of finery. It just didn’t seem… _right,_ not after he had failed to kill Thanos the first time.

The door of his house opened with a creak like the hinges hadn’t been oiled in decades. There was no key; he didn’t need one—nobody in New Asgard did. There were none who could steal and get away with it because there were so few people to begin with. The entrance way was a mess, not unlike his rooms on Asgard, cluttered with various items that had been there when he moved in and hadn’t bothered to get rid of. _Norns,_ that was five _years_ ago, and he still hadn’t cleaned up the house since then.

That was what Loki was returning to—a tiny gross house that didn’t have any food other than frozen pizza and beer, which couldn’t really count as food.

Loki, seemingly untroubled by the musty smell, walked through the narrow foyer and collapsed onto the dreary green couch in Thor’s living room. His left leg hung off the side and his right was stretched out over the length of the sofa. He folded his hands over his chest and closed his eyes. His clothes were still bloody, torn, and dirty, but he didn’t seem to care about that. Thor wondered why he wasn’t fixing his appearance with sorcery—Loki always felt the need to appear neat and presentable. Then he remembered Eir’s explanation for his weariness: _magical exhaustion._ Right, so seiðr was out of the question.

Thor slipped into the closet for a second to grab a hoodie, then shed his bloodied armour and donned the softer garment. He leaned Stormbreaker against the wall in the closet before entering the living room.

“Loki?” asked Thor, going to the couch and leaning over it. He wondered what would happen if he poked him on the forehead.

Loki hummed faintly and lazily slurred, “Tired.”

Thor nodded, though he knew that Loki couldn’t see him. The Thunderer turned around and quickly went to the closet in the bedroom, digging through the mess for a spare blanket. He went back and draped it over his little brother before slumping into a large armchair in the corner, imagining that if he stood any longer, he would topple over and collapse. His very bones felt the exhaustion, threatening to crumble if he were to attempt lifting something heavier than a small book.

Loki’s breathing had evened; he was asleep. Thor listened to the soft huffs of air until he succumbed to sleep as well, drifting off into rest without dreams. Loki was there, _alive._ They both were, though in desperate need of rest. Rest could come first. Everything else could wait.

* * *

Thor woke to the sound of someone loudly knocking at the door. It wasn’t Korg; the Kronan’s knock held the very distinct sound of rock on wood. No, this was the Valkyrie.

Loki was still asleep despite the banging and had not moved since Thor had last seen him.

He took a good look around the room. The windows were closed, as were the curtains. There were cans and bottles of alcohol lying all around the floor and tables. The TV in the corner was the only thing in the room that wasn’t covered in a layer of dust. Damn. He would need to clean up a little.

“I’m coming,” Thor called hurriedly, dragging his aching limbs off the chair and towards the door. His voice was scratchy, throat uncomfortably dry. He opened it and was temporarily blinded by the sudden stream of light. A fraction of a second later, he was hit in the face with a breeze of cold air. It was early in the evening, judging by the angle of the sun. Thor brought his free hand up to his forehead to block the light.

Brunnhilde glared at him. She was standing at his door with her arms crossed and a concerned expression on her face. The warrior had clearly showered—unlike Thor—because the layer of grime that had covered her after the battle was gone and her hair was neatly braided down the side. “Majesty,” she said firmly, uncrossing her arms. The waterproof vest she was wearing shifted and made a slight rustling sound. “You awake?”

Thor nodded a couple of times. “I’m all right,” he said, though his torso still pained him, and his arms were so tired they had that odd floaty feeling about them. “What day is it?”

“Saturday. You slept for a day.”

Oh. Okay. That wasn’t as long as he was expecting. “How are you?”

Brunnhilde tilted her head side to side twice, then replied, “Fine. How’s Lackey?”

Thor sighed deeply. Loki had despised the nickname from the moment the Valkyrie first called him by it. “Sleeping,” he answered simply. “How are you functional already?”

She shrugged. “Experience. You hungry?”

Thor thought about it. He hadn’t noticed, but… she was right. He was hungry. “I could eat.”

Brunnhilde nodded and told him, “Sigrid is cooking a feast with the others. A welcome home gift or something. It’s in—” she looked at her watch “—thirty minutes or so. You should shower, Majesty, you smell terrible.”

He laughed, a little offset by her bluntness. Not that she ever _wasn’t_ blunt, it was just startling sometimes was all. “Right, I’ll do that,” he chuckled. “But I can’t go to Sigrid’s feast. I can’t just leave my brother here.”

“He’ll be fine,” she waved him off. “He’s not doing anything but sleeping.”

“And if he wakes up and I’m not there?”

“Then he wakes up. But I don’t think he will anytime soon. Eir said “magical exhaustion”. I’d be more surprised if he didn’t sleep it off for a few days.”

 _“Days?”_ Thor exclaimed, aghast. Loki had strained his magic beyond what he should have before, but it was only ever a few extra hours of sleep—never _days._

Brunnhilde shot him one of her famous _are-you-an-idiot-or-just-pretending_ looks that Thor hated. “Yes, days,” she confirmed flatly. “If he pushed it any further, he’d probably have knocked himself into a coma or something. Take a shower, Majesty.” She spun on her heel and walked away with her hands in her pockets, braid swinging behind her.

_Days._

He would have to wait for _days._

Thor went back inside and into the living room. Loki had not moved. He was breathing, Thor knew, from the steady rise and fall of his chest. The blanket had slipped off him slightly, and Thor righted it before stepping back.

_Alive._

_Loki’s alive._

_He’s fine, like Brunnhilde said. Just tired._

Thor sighed and turned into the kitchen. The pizza in the fridge made his stomach churn at the thought of eating it. Yeah, he would probably have to go to the feast whether he wanted to or not. A small part of his mind insisted that it might not be all that bad. He _was_ hungry, and whatever Sigrid had cooked would probably be better than cold pizza.

He found a clean glass in all the dirty dishes and filled it with water from the tap, draining it twice. The water was a blissful relief flowing down his throat. Thor knew Loki would want water when he woke up as well, so he quickly cleaned the glass, filled it again, and set it on the table near the couch, clearing off some of the empty beer bottles as he did.

The shower was blessedly warm in comparison to the frigid air outside. Thor suddenly wondered _where_ the feast would be held. It couldn’t take place outside; it was freezing, but there was nowhere else. Maybe the community centre, though that was nowhere near large enough to host that many people.

Thor watched as the grime and blood swirled down the drain of the shower, painting the inside of the bathtub red and brown. It took a long time to wash his body, and longer to wash his hair, which had dried blood and mud matted in it. Not that he was complaining. He would rather have hair to wash than not have it. Plus, the humans had several pleasant-smelling soaps that Asgard did not. 

He had only just finished when there was another knock at the door, identical to the first. Thor dressed hurriedly and spared a quick glance at Loki (still fast asleep) before heading out the door. Brunnhilde was waiting for him a few steps away, staring out at the sea. Her curly brown hair was swaying in the wind. When he noticed what she was wearing, however, he froze in pure shock.

“You’re wearing a _dress?”_ he gasped, stunned speechless. Said dress was black, flowy, and reached her feet, billowing like a cape. So, he couldn’t tell if she was wearing heels. _That_ would be something to gawk at. Thor didn’t even know she _owned_ any formal clothing at all.

She glowered at him. “Don’t get used to it,” she scowled flatly and threatened with a pointed finger. “It’s just this once.”

Thor shook his head to clear his thoughts. “I was going to say that you look nice,” he said awkwardly, closing the door behind him and taking a few steps forward.

“Shut up,” she ordered, sending another glare in his direction before trudging off without him. Thor jogged a few steps to meet her pace.

The sun was only just beginning to fall, painting the sky a mellow shade of orange. It was cold, but Thor was wearing a thick coat. The Valkyrie was not. A few clouds were on the horizon. It was beautiful, peaceful, _right._ For the first time in five years, it felt _right._ They had corrected a wrong in the universe and now everything was exactly as it should be.

They made their way in silence to the feast, stopping only to greet those also on their way there. Thor was briefly confused that she had led him to the town square. So, this was to be an open-air banquet. That didn’t make any sense due to the cold, but as soon as they were within the borders of the designated “feast area”, a warm, cozy sensation like a well-lit hearth heating a room came over him. Of course, they could have it outside; the seiðfolk had returned. They could mitigate the cold.

On the _Statesman,_ all of Asgard’s magic wielders (including Loki) had chosen to stay behind and defend against the Titan. None had survived (including Loki. _Idiot!_ What was he _thinking_ attacking _Thanos_ with that _butter knife?_ ). The last of Asgard’s magic had died with him and it returned with him when Bruce snapped everyone back.

Thor took his place in the centre of the table, not the head. It was traditional on Asgard for the king to sit at the head, but Midgardians would place their monarchs in the centre. Thor didn’t know why this was, but he preferred being closer to more people. It was less isolating in the middle, which, he thought, was a good thing.

Brunnhilde took the seat across from him, where the queen would usually sit, and thankfully nobody made anything of it or commented on her choice of seating. Sigrid had organized the cooking from the kitchens in the community centre, sending the children out to serve the dishes. They were happy to help; most of them lost siblings or parents in one of Thanos’ massacres. This was their way of thanking them.

The food was warm and the conversation light and reminiscent of feasts on Asgard where warriors would take turns telling tales of their battles. Thor could imagine himself years ago sharing in the merriment, but his present self could not recall the battle without feeling the sting of loss for his friend. Tony’s admirable sacrifice still pained him to think about. All the same, the stories continued, some of the battle aboard the _Statesman_ and some from the battle of yesterday.

Mead was passed among the tables, refilling itself due to some enchantment or another. Thor decidedly steered clear of it, thinking that he would rather remember this night than not.

An hour after the final dish, Sigrid and her small team of chefs emerged from the kitchen to join them, and all the tables gave praise to their cooking with a unanimous round of applause.

It was well into the night when people began to leave. Slowly at first, then all at once when the more charismatic individuals had gone. Soon, Thor felt his eyelids dropping faster than he could pry them open and headed back to his house with Heimdall at his side.

Heimdall used the spare bedroom in Brunnhilde’s house and would be staying there until more accommodations could be built. However, with the help of the seiðfolk, that would likely be far easier than if it were otherwise. Perhaps New Asgard could even help others as well. Until then, the revived Asgardians stayed with friends and relatives.

“Your Majesty?” Heimdall said as they walked through the quiet and dark streets of New Asgard. The only sound came from the guests at the feast behind them and the only light came from that inside of the houses that left their curtains hanging open.

Thor smiled at him. “You know you don’t need to call me that, my friend,” he eased, ignoring how his gut churned at the title. Once he was just _Thor._ He _preferred_ to be just _Thor._ It seemed that now, he had become nothing more than a title to people.

“You are my king,” the Gatekeeper replied stoically.

Thor shook his head and admitted soberly, “I have not been much of a king these past few years.” His eyes fell to the ground, unable to meet his friend’s stare.

“Asgard is prospering,” he remarked carefully. Not a judgment of Thor’s rulership, only a fact about Asgard’s current state. Cautiously neutral, he noted.

“No thanks to me,” he sighed. “This is Brunnhilde’s work. She led them to Earth and rebuilt here. I was just… there.”

“She told me Asgard would not have been able to remain on Midgard if it weren’t for your connections. You convinced the governments of Earth to give you land.” That was true. There had been over a week of conferences with the United Nations about whether they would be granted land. Thankfully, on the last day of negotiations, Norway offered the town of Tønsberg to rebuild for several cultural exchanges. “You have done much for Asgard.”

“Not nearly as much as I should have,” Thor murmured wistfully. 

If Heimdall heard him, he didn’t respond to that comment. Instead, he asked, “How is your brother?”

Thor answered, “Sleeping still. He overused his magic.” _Because of course, he did._

Heimdall arched an eyebrow. “So, is the rumour true? I heard a seiðkona tell of how he used a spell to eliminate the Chitauri.”

Thor nodded. “It is. I believe that is the main cause of his need for rest.” Loki had barely said a word since the battle, but Thor thought he made out something during their brief examination with Eir about a “detonator spell” that claimed half of his energy. That must have been what the seiðkona was speaking of. Though… “What did she say about it?”

They rounded a corner, heading in the direction of Thor’s house. A trail of mage lights lit the path there. He had really missed magic. Asgard had taken it for granted for centuries, never realizing just how much of their society relied on seiðr to keep things functional. Then Asgard was gone and the seiðfolk soon after, leaving them to deal with their problems without an easy solution.

“The seiðkonur were attempting to figure out what spell he used,” the Gatekeeper replied. “They concluded that it shouldn’t be possible and that it wasn’t a detonator spell.” Heimdall tilted his head in acknowledgement as they reached the path to Brunnhilde’s house.

Thor shook his head. “It was,” he corrected. “He told me himself.” Unless he was lying, which still, unfortunately, held a non-zero chance. Though there was little reason to lie about something like this, and Loki didn’t seem to be coherent enough at the time to craft a lie.

Heimdall hummed. “You shall have to ask him to tell them, then,” he said. “Goodnight, your Majesty.”

Thor groaned but didn’t object to the title. He had to choose his battles. “Goodnight, my friend,'' he replied and headed up the small path to his own house.

The door creaked open after he gave it a small push, engulfing him in the smell of dust and alcohol. It was not pleasant. He made a mental note to get some air fresheners at some point. Or maybe open a window. The window would probably be easier.

Thor quickly changed from his formal wear into casual hoodie and sweatpants. He peeked into the living room one last time to check on Loki before he went to bed. Loki was… _gone._

He was gone.

The couch was empty.

Thor dug his fingernails into his palms, squeezed his eyes shut, and focused on the pinching sting that came with it. He was hallucinating. He’d done it before. He had imagined Loki’s ghost haunting him and Heimdall’s eyes in his dreams, but he _was_ here earlier. This wasn’t a hallucination. 

He opened his eyes.

The couch was still as empty as when he first walked in.

_Dammit._

* * *

“No, no, no, no, no,” Thor cried, pacing around the room. The couch was empty, as was the glass of water Thor had left beside it. The blanket was folded neatly and draped across the armrest of the couch. He ran into the various rooms of the house, calling his brother’s name. Loki was not in any of the bedrooms, the kitchen, living room, bathroom, or any closet in the house. Where _was_ he? He wouldn’t have just wandered off, would he?

The larger, more frightening question was, _did he leave for good?_

Thor didn’t want to think that he had left, but he also couldn’t discount the possibility. Loki was like a ghost, never staying in one place for long before wandering off to somewhere more interesting to haunt someone else. Even in his youth, he never spent more than a few months on Asgard at a time without travelling the Nine. The only exception to this was his time on the _Statesman,_ where Thor selfishly wished he _had_ left so Thanos had not been drawn to what remained of Asgard.

Thor opened the back door. “Loki!” he called into the frigid air. There was no response, only the sound of the wind softly rustling the grass. He was about to head inside when a faint green-tinted light caught his attention. The Thunder God turned around the corner of his house and saw a small green mage light floating a few feet in the air. _Loki._

“Loki?” he called again, though there was no reply. Thor cautiously poked the light with his forefinger, half-expecting to be turned into some animal or another. He had made _that_ mistake countless times.

Instead, however, the light flickered off and vanished. He looked up in confusion, glancing frantically around the area. There was another light now, twenty or so metres away from the first in the direction of the cliffs.

Ah. So, _that_ was how it was going to be. If Loki didn’t want to be found, he would find a way not to be. There was a trail, so he did, thankfully.

Thor jogged up to the light and poked it once. It fizzled out and a moment later, another appeared a similar distance away from the first. He continued the pattern until he saw a cluster of lights ahead of him, surrounding a familiar figure. The Thunderer smiled when he saw him. So, he hadn’t left. That was good.

Loki was levitating a few feet in the air above the cliffside where their father had said his last goodbyes. He looked peaceful, surrounded by wisps of green magic that resembled what the humans called _aurora borealis_. Mage lights and a variety of other illusions flew about, spreading several metres in every direction. Thor knew better than to touch any of them. His hair was flowing freely, and he had his hands outstretched around him, facing the sea. He was still wearing the same clothes from the battle, but he had obviously rid them of the grime and blood.

“Loki?” Thor asked hesitantly, carefully walking through the swirls of seiðr and orbs of light. “What are you doing?” His alarm spiked suddenly, remembering Eir’s words. _Magical exhaustion. Let your seiðr rest._ “Eir said not to use magic. Brother, is this safe for your seiðr?”

The wisps of magic in the air swirled around him a little faster as Loki lowered himself to the ground slowly. He turned around and said, “It’s perfectly fine.” Loki smiled widely. “Better than it has been in years,” he added.

Thor narrowed his eyebrows. “Brother?”

_Better than it has been in years._

What? Thinking back, Thor could not remember his brother ever using much magic after… after he fell. There were a few illusions on Midgard, a few on Asgard, and then on Svartálfheim and Sakaar. But not on the _Statesman._ The first _real_ use of magic to its full potential had been the battle against Thanos. “What does that mean?” Thor asked, though he already had a sneaking suspicion.

Loki exhaled deeply. “It was damaged,” he answered. Quietly, _“He_ damaged it.”

“After,” Thor choked, “after you fell.” The revelation made Thor think that death was too merciful a fate for the Titan. He deserved a far worse end than what he had been dealt. He would… no. He couldn’t do anything. Thanos was already dead. Twice over, actually, and that _still_ wasn’t enough.

The younger nodded solemnly. “I don’t know what fixed it. Perhaps my death or his. Or maybe one of the Snaps. I know not, but it’s _better._ Not completely fixed yet, but it will get there.” Loki looked at the orbs of light floating around him, holding out a hand to dispel several of them.

“What are they?” asked Thor, glancing at the coloured spheres of light that remained. Most were tinted green, but a few were blue, yellow, and purple.

Loki smirked, eyes glistening. “The solution to the current housing problem.”

Thor felt his eyes widen. “How?”

“You’ve seen military camps built in less than a day,” said the younger.

It wasn’t an answer, but Thor could fill in the gaps. “These are something similar?”

Loki nodded. “They are,” he confirmed, making a flicking motion with his hand. The orbs swirled around them once before flying in the direction of the village, leaving faint trails of light in their wake.

“You’ll give the Valkyrie a heart attack when you disrupt her city planning,” Thor chuckled, watching them fade into the distance. Brunnhilde had worked day and night to plan the layout of New Asgard around a communal town square with restaurants, a market, and small shops. The surrounding area was left partially empty to allow for its expansion. There were a few other projects she had planned as well that Thor knew very little of, much to his regret.

“I hope so,” came Loki’s dry reply, and Thor laughed, though he knew the Valkyrie was more than likely to attempt to murder his brother. He’d had enough of Loki dying for multiple lifetimes, thanks.

“Come, brother,” he strolled up to Loki and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, ignoring the “get off, _oaf”_ that Loki mumbled. “Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! As always, updates on Fridays. All comments/kudos are appreciated!


	2. All the Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Brodinsons attend Tony's funeral. Everything does _not_ go to plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I, um, got a bit more descriptive than I had originally intended. So, warnings for semi-graphic torture and panic attacks. Anyways, sorry for any grammar or spelling mistakes. Enjoy!

Loki had adamantly insisted that attending Stark’s funeral was a terrible idea; he had tried to kill the mortal, thrown him out of a window in his own tower. But Thor was having none of it.

“You were there,” Thor had said, stating only a fact as if that were enough reason to attend the funeral of a man who must have hated him with every fibre of his being, for a time. “You fought Thanos. You should come.”

Loki had slyly tilted his head, ignored how the name made his stomach twist, and replied, “You’re just worried the Valkyrie and I will attempt to murder each other in your absence.”

“She has a name,” grumbled Thor with an exasperated look. In just four days, Loki and the Valkyrie had managed to annoy his brother nearly to the point of violence on no less than seven separate and unrelated occasions.

Loki scoffed lightly, “She vowed to punch me if I were to use it.”

Thor sighed and dropped his face into his open palms, mumbling, _“Again.”_ His head then shot up, and he practically begged, “Come on. I can’t go alone.”

So, Loki had gone, if only to make sure that Thor was not alone, though he silently vowed to stay as far away from the procession as was acceptable. All the Midgardian heroes were there, silently observing as Stark’s widow and daughter made their way through the crowd and set a small bundle of flowers on the lake. It was simple, elegant. Much classier than he would have cause to expect for a man like him.

The funeral guests were dressed in mainly black, so Loki had wrapped an illusion around himself as soon as the Bifrost spat them out. No, he was not about to wear Midgardian garments, but he did not desire to stand out more than he already did.

In any case, Loki was not entirely sure that he was welcome there; the one-eyed man attempted to arrest him as soon as he was seen, followed quickly by an attack on the part of the woman who reeked of the Tesseract’s power. It was unsettling, to say the least, and Loki had barely enough energy to hold a shield long enough for her to give up. With Thor and the Avengers’ backing, they managed (by some miracle) to convince Fury to back off, and by extension, Captain Danvers.

Loki was in the back of the group, carefully far from the Hawk and the rest of the Avengers. He was more than slightly surprised to not find an arrow aimed at his eye the moment he showed his face, but according to Thor, they knew something of what had happened before the invasion of Earth (if it could even be called an invasion) and had come to terms with the fact that it wasn’t his fault (it was). Anyway, he kept his distance.

There was another man there in the back with him who was attempting to convince the Good Captain that Stark would not have wanted him at his funeral. He lost the argument, and Loki could almost see something of his and Thor’s relationship in theirs.

All the same, he did not dare approach anyone to offer condolences.

When it was over, the heroes stayed for a time to socialize and share their grief. Loki stayed quiet and alone. He was entirely out of place, amongst enemies and people who would rather see him dead or in chains than freely walking the planet. Only when he took an analyzing look at the crowd did he see another who clearly felt the same: the man with whom the Captain was arguing earlier.

“You don’t seem to want to be here, do you?” the out-of-place man asked as he walked towards where Loki was decidedly _not_ hiding behind a birch tree (the sun was hot on his dark clothing; he just wanted some shade). He was not wearing a suit, which was odd. Loki thought that was the customary clothing for solemn occasions. He had long brown hair and a posture and build that reminded him of Captain Rogers.

“Do you?” Loki echoed, tilting his head to the left. He ran his thumb over the creases in his palm behind his back.

The man gave a slight shrug before saying, “He wouldn’t want me here. You?”

“The same, I believe,” replied Loki, letting the silence linger for a moment afterwards. It stayed long enough to become uncomfortable, then not, then back again.

“Bucky,” he said without warning, offering his right hand.

Another Midgardian custom. There would be a great many of those to become familiar with. Loki took his hand and shook it firmly. “Loki,” he introduced himself. The man—Bucky—had not offered a surname, so Loki did not either. 

“You’re…” he started, eyes widening momentarily in realization as their hands parted.

“Yes,” Loki confirmed flatly. 

“Huh.” His eyes pinched together into an expression that Loki couldn’t quite place.

With a weak attempt at changing the subject, he inquired, “If you don’t mind me asking—why would he not want you here? Did you not fight in the battle?”

Bucky grimaced, recoiling slightly, suddenly tense. “It’s… complicated.” Mildly interesting, but he had a strong feeling the man would not want him to pry. So, he didn’t.

Loki hummed mildly, looking through the crowd for his brother, who was engaged in a relatively quiet conversation with the Guardians.

“What about you?” asked Bucky, shifting his position so that he was beside Loki instead of in front of him. They watched the others from their spot in the distance.

“Complicated,” Loki replied simply, and Bucky nodded in understanding.

Thor lightly chucked at something the raccoon had said, and Loki found himself smiling in turn. 

“There was an organization that infiltrated SHIELD a couple of years ago,” Bucky explained, and Loki felt his eyes widen in mild surprise; he had not expected him to go into any detail. “They brainwashed me, and I killed Stark’s parents.” He swallowed and breathed deeply twice before continuing, “Steve and him fought over it. The Avengers split in two and weren’t prepared for Thanos. This… this is my fault. I shouldn’t have—”

“No,” Loki interrupted firmly. There were some unsettling parallels between their stories. “There is always something we could have done to prevent this. Blaming ourselves gets us nowhere.” 

_Ironic, that it is you saying that._

_You could have told them about the Ti_ — _Thanos years ago. You are to blame more than most._

_He’s dead. It’s over._

_And how many died for that to be the case?_

“But you still do,” Bucky noted calmly, cutting through his thoughts.

Loki tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Everyone blames themselves,” he replied steadily, somehow. “It is of no use to dwell upon it.” He averted his gaze to anywhere else, the grass, the Avengers, his brother. “All the same,” Loki added—an afterthought that went unfinished— _I do._

“All the same,” Bucky solemnly echoed, nodding shallowly as he stared into the ground, expression tight.

They silently watched the Avengers mingle and share in their grief. Thor was obviously taking a liking to the Guardians, which Loki found more than a little concerning as their group was known to include Gamora. However, the assassin was nowhere to be seen. Then the pieces clicked into place. The Titan snapped, meaning he gained the Soul Stone, meaning he had to pay its price. Gamora was not here because Gamora was _dead._ That was mildly comforting. 

Reports had shown she had helped in getting the Power Stone away from Ronan, but she was still known as the daughter of Thanos. She had _helped_ them break him, and Loki was not about to just _forgive_ the pain he had suffered at her hand because she supposedly “turned over a new leaf” as the humans would put it.

“Brother!” Thor called suddenly, walking over, and beckoning him with a hand gesture. He had one of his bright smiles plastered on his face that made Loki slightly want to hit him. This was a _funeral._

Loki shared a look with Bucky before reluctantly pulling himself away from the shade of the tree towards Thor. “What,” he asked lowly, allowing Thor to drag him behind the small cabin and into the woods. The shade below the canopy of leaves was more solid, thankfully blocking out the sun and its heat. Thor didn’t answer, just kept walking until they came across an orange spaceship with several species sitting outside, surrounded by a plethora of boxes containing a variety of Midgardian products. He recognized an abundance of what the humans called “coffee” as well as various technological components and other food items.

“Hello, my friends!” Thor greeted cheerily, waving.

The one his brother called “rabbit” looked up from whatever weapon he was fiddling with to watch Thor approach. “Hey Blondie,” he said. Loki didn’t know why Thor called him “rabbit”; that was clearly a raccoon.

“I think you qualify as a “dude” now,” said a man Loki didn’t recognize. He was wearing Ravager leathers and was talking to a species that Loki could not recall the name of. He stayed a few steps behind Thor and flickered his eyes between the two.

Thor laughed off the remark: “You are probably right.” He strolled further into their small circle. “Where are the others?”

“On the ship,” answered the human. At least, Loki thought he was human. There was something slightly _off_ about him. Like there were other energies in him that were more ancient than the Earth itself. _That_ was interesting. “Have you thought about my offer?”

“I have,” Thor replied, shifting his weight between his feet.

 _What offer?_ wondered Loki idly.

“And?” prompted the man that Loki still needed a name for.

“I’m needed here, unfortunately.” Thor smiled brightly and patted the man on the back twice. “Thank you, though.”

The mortal shrugged and moved one of the boxes nearer to the entrance ramp. “Your loss,” he said, raising an eyebrow slightly. “Who’s your friend?”

“Ah!” Thor exclaimed, whirling around to stand between them. “This is my brother, Loki,” he introduced him. “Brother, this is Peter Quill.”

Loki made the few steps forward and shook Quill’s outstretched hand. “A pleasure,” he said simply.

“Same,” Quill casually replied. “Some people call me Starlord.”

“Nobody calls you that ‘cept you,” said the raccoon dryly without looking up from his tinkering. To Loki, he continued, “I’m Rocket.”

The other one, the one whose species Loki could not name, added quickly, “Drax.”

“Nice to meet you all,” he replied. To the group, “You are the crew that pulled my brother out of space, yes?” Loki pulled his hands behind his back to keep them from visibly fidgeting. 

Rocket nodded, a smug expression crawling over his features (how a raccoon could express such an emotion, Loki did not know). “Yeah, we are,” he declared proudly. “Big Thunder here would be lost without us.”

“You have my thanks,” Loki said diplomatically.

“No problem,” said Quill, sitting on a pile of boxes. “Couldn’t just leave him floating through space. We’re supposed to be the good guys here.”

Loki smiled at that. He supposed that they were the “good guys” as Quill had so eloquently put it. Well, given the competition for that title, it was, perhaps, not much of an achievement.

“We’re taking off tomorrow,” the human continued to Thor. “So, if you want to say goodbye to the team, now’s your chance.”

“Yes,” said Thor, nodding. “I would like that. They’re all on board, yes?”

“Yep,” Quill said, popping the ‘p’ smoothly.

Thor took a single step towards the ship before turning to face Loki and asking curiously, “Would you like to meet the others?”

“I’d rather stay out here, if it’s all the same to you,” he answered flatly. The thought of being on a cramped and filthy ship did not appeal to him in the slightest.

Thor nodded wordlessly and made his way into the ship. Drax followed shortly behind him, muttering something about a “pirate angel”.

“So,” Quill drawled, carefully stepping over a box that Loki assumed had one of those Midgardian “television sets” based on its shape and the image on the front. “Thor said you’d died before the Snap.”

“I did,” Loki confirmed, tensing slightly. This was not going to be a pleasant conversation, he could tell. The bruising had been healed when he returned, but the memories had unfortunately not been erased. He could still sometimes feel the Titan’s fingers closing around his throat, the sound of a single _crack_ before _nothing._

“So, how are you here?” he asked, putting a box of chocolates inside a black duffle bag that was already full of them. Chocolate was a rather rare delicacy outside of Midgard, so it only made sense for him to stock up now. Even if he alone would not be able to consume the copious amount of the sweet currently sitting outside the ship, it would still sell for a good price.

“They brought back everyone Thanos killed,” Loki answered, voice tight, but somehow steady. That _name._ He still couldn’t bring himself to say that damned _name,_ even to himself, sometimes. He hated himself for it sometimes, for how weak he was that he couldn’t even say it when he was _dead_. Taking a deep breath, Loki purposefully scattered his thoughts. “Evidently, that included me,” he finished.

“Cool. I—” The rest of what the man was about to say was drowned out by a threatening, _drowning_ sensation coming over him.

Something was _wrong._

Something was very, _very_ wrong. 

Was it the—Loki stopped that train of thought before he needlessly concerned himself further.

No. 

_No, it cannot be._

_He’s dead._

_Dead men cannot harm you._

_If you fail, if the Tesseract is kept from us…_

_Dead. They’re dead. The Other is dead, killed by another whom the Titan sought as a vassal. The Titan is dead, killed first by Thor, then by the Man of Iron less than a week ago. Dead._

“Dude?” Quill’s worried voice shook him from his thoughts. “You kind of spaced out for a second there. You okay?” The Midgardian was looking at him, eyebrows raised, and concern radiating from his voice.

“Fine,” Loki replied too quickly, shaking his head to banish the fear. There was nothing to panic over; this was entirely irrational.

_There will be no realm—_

“You look a little pale,” noted the man, standing up from his seat on the boxes.

“There is something wrong,” Loki told him. “There is…” The answer to his question came in the form of a cybernetic Luphomoid coming down the ramp of the ship.

_Nebula._

He froze. Thor was there—on the ship. What if… what if she… 

Loki summoned his daggers subtly behind his back as Quill whirled around to face the daughter of Thanos.

“Oh yeah,” Quill said, unnervingly calm. If the look on his face said anything about the man, it was that he had no idea what was happening. “This is Nebula. Nebula, this is Loki.”

“We’ve met,” she said tersely, taking the last few steps to stand behind Quill. Her expression was entirely, unnervingly unreadable.

“Okay,” said the mortal bouncing his head up and down with his eyebrows raised. “Small universe, I guess. When—”

“You should go,” Loki said lowly, dangerously. His daggers were a comforting presence in his palms. He was not strapped to a table. The Other was not here. His magic was free and at full strength. He could beat Nebula in a fight if it came to that. Or he could run. But… 

_Thor._

_What had she done to him?_

“I really don’t think—” Quill started, raising his hands between the two.

 _“Now,”_ Loki insisted sharply, cutting him off.

“Peter,” said the Luphomoid, facing him directly. “It’s fine.” Nebula tilted her head in the direction of the ship in a notion that told him to go.

Quill sighed deeply before hesitantly retreating to the ship.

“He said he killed you,” Nebula spoke clearly after a moment of wire-tight silence. She did not come any closer, which was odd, non-threatening. Loki didn’t think he could trust himself not to put a knife through her mechanical skull if she came any nearer.

“He did,” Loki replied, voice trembling slightly. He pushed down his desire to flee, focusing on the only important matter.

_Thor._

_What had she—_

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she said slowly, cautiously, tracing a careful path around the boxes of Midgardian goods. Her face was carefully blank.

Loki hissed, _“Liar.”_ Nobody who said that kept their promise. Gamora had said it when she pulled him from the Chitauri for an audience with her father. She lied, even though she was terrible at lying. He should have been able to see through it, but after the Void… after the Void, his mind was not what it was. He was, admittedly, at least slightly mad. More than slightly, perhaps.

“It is the truth,” Nebula replied flatly, stepping out from the scattered piles of boxes. “Thanos is dead—” _Thanks, he knew that._ “—and I don’t do that anymore.”

 _“Liar,”_ he repeated, venom seeping into his voice. “Where’s Thor?”

“On the ship. He’s fine.” She raised both her hands in something Loki recognized as an attempt at a placating gesture.

He stared her down skeptically.

Nebula rolled her eyes at his disbelief: “Anyone would be an idiot to fight your brother.”

That much was true. It seemed that the two of them were rather difficult to kill. Still, if she had caught him off guard, or… or…

Loki tightened his grip on his knives and took a careful step backwards.

“I’m sorry,” she said soberly, though perhaps not genuinely, “for what we did to you. Really, I don’t—Thanos killed my sister for the Soul Stone. I hate him as much as you do.”

That was a lie. Nebula idolized the Titan as much—if not more so—than the Black Order did. Gamora, less so, but her loyalty remained unwavering during his time aboard _Sanctuary._ “Why the sudden change?” challenged Loki as she stepped closer again. He held his ground this time, holding out his daggers.

The Luphomoid hesitated to answer, “Gamora. She told me—she told me I could be more than what Thanos made me.” Nebula took a few more steps forward until she was mere feet from him.

_Get away, get away, get away!_

A glint of steel caught his eye to his right. Metal. 

Sword. Something. 

_Weapon._

_Threat._

He lunged, knife first. Nebula dodged to the side and stumbled back a step, bringing out a dagger of her own.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” she hissed, pointing the blade at him as they circled each other warily. This was all too familiar. The Titan enjoyed pitting his ‘children’ against one another, Gamora and Nebula more than most. Loki had experienced fighting her firsthand before falling out of _Sanctuary_ to Midgard. He knew her fighting style. She fought with such desperation, holding back nothing with every blow. He had lost to that fighting style countless times, but not now. This was not _Sanctuary,_ and he was not half-starved and injured.

Loki scoffed and raised the other dagger. Somewhere behind Nebula, there was scuffling. He ignored it. “Nobody who says that keeps their promise.” He lunged again, swiping tactically at her face on her weaker side. Nebula jumped back, balanced herself, then blocked his next strike with her cybernetic arm, breaking off the blade of the dagger. Before he could attack with the other hand, she landed a kick to his torso, sending him flying backwards and into a tree.

His magic pulsed without his conscious volition to soften the blow, though his ribs still ached sharply at the hard contact. Loki sent a pulse of magic through his body to probe for injuries. They were only bruises, but it begged the question, why was he bothering with daggers when his greatest weapon was restored? Loki put away the knives and sent a flare of raw energy in her direction. She dived and rolled out of the way as one of the boxes exploded behind her.

The Luphomoid charged at him, unsheathing her sword. She swung; Loki ducked and sliced her knee. She cried out in pain and fell to the ground, gasping. He climbed on top of her, pinning her arms and sliding the sword away.

“I’m not trying to hurt you,” she growled, struggling fiercely against his grip. Her skin was cold against his curled fingers.

Loki huffed humorlessly, “You are still a terrible liar, dear Nebula.”

She flinched, and Loki restrained her limbs with magic before summoning a dagger to his hand.

“Loki!” someone called frantically, desperately. His dagger was inches away from her eye, hovering above it steadily. Strong arms pulled him off her, but he didn’t release his magic. “Loki, why—”

_Thor._

_That was Thor._

_He’s fine._

_See? Safe._

He did not catch the rest of his brother’s question.

So, she _was_ telling the truth. Loki let the restraints go, and a woman with glowing antennae and black hair helped her to her feet.

“Loki,” Thor said, pulling him away from the others by the wrist as his ire visibly raised to a dangerous level. He did not remove his eyes from Nebula. The Luphomoid was surrounded by the other Guardians, calmly chattering. “Loki, what the _Hel_ were you _thinking?”_

“I—” Loki started, eyes flickering to Thor, then back to Nebula. She had reclaimed her sword. Loki stiffened. “I—she—” If she attacked from behind, Nebula could have them both dead in seconds. He did not take his eyes off her.

His brother stepped in front of his line of sight. “You tried to _kill_ her!” Thor exclaimed, throwing up his hands. Loki flinched at the sudden movement. He was angry, and rightfully so.

Loki choked, “I don’t—”

_Don’t what?_

_“Silver tongue turned to lead?”_

“Why could you have possibly wanted to kill her? _Hmm?”_ he demanded crossly. _Oh, what his brother didn’t know_. “What did she ever do to you?” _Case in point._

_A great many things._

_“There are different types of pain,” hissed the Other, rounding on him. “You have experienced only the one for now, but the others are to come.”_

_Loki shied into the corner of his cell, hoping the darkness would swallow him whole. Anything. Anything to get out of here._

_“Trust me, Little King,” the Titan promised, “You will give in eventually. Better to save yourself the pain.”_

_“You’ll break eventually,” Gamora told him, voice carving through the darkness. “Everyone does.” It sounded sorrowful, full of remorse._

_“What would you have me do?” he asked her when they left._

_“Break now. Do it while there’s still some of you left. Maybe then you can survive this.”_

_That did not make it hurt any less._

_The Other raked his claws down his magic, twisting it, watching it squirm beneath his fingers. He tried to remove it entirely. He failed. It was the first time Loki begged. There were talons in his body, in his mind, warping fond memories into pain, and those of pain into worse._

_Ebony Maw enjoyed his poisons. There were always new concoctions slipped into the water, into his food, or just injected into his body. They burned his insides and made his blood boil, and no amount of screaming could get it to stop._

_Proxima and Corvus found early on that heat was effective on him, which made a sick sort of sense. They locked him in the boiler room for days, kept him on the outer wings of_ Sanctuary _while passing stars. He seized and cried; throat parched from lack of water. Or perhaps dry from his own screams. It didn’t make a difference._

_Gamora was an infrequent visitor, but a visitor, nonetheless. She didn’t seem to enjoy his pain like the others did, but her knives were sharp. She never talked, never goaded, mocked. It was the most he could hope for._

_Nebula used him for something else entirely: a punching bag on which to take out all her anger. Another match lost to Gamora meant more pain for him. She punched and kicked and raged, so Loki took what solstice he could in the fact that his tormentor was suffering as much as him._

_All the same…_

“Loki!” Thor yelled, breaking his thoughts like thin glass. He was still angry. No, confused. Worried? Loki couldn’t tell. “Look at me,” he ordered. “Loki. _Loki.”_

Thor was standing in front of him. His hands were on Loki’s shoulders, keeping him upright. It was grounding, the feeling of strong, _safe_ hands holding him steady. If he hadn’t held on, Loki was sure he would have lost his footing by now.

“I—I—” he stuttered. What was happening? Where—

 _You are not on_ Sanctuary.

_Safe._

_Thor’s here._

_He’s here._

_The funeral._

_You were at the funeral._

_Then there was…_

_The human and the one Thor calls “rabbit” but is a raccoon._

_And—and—_

_Nebula._

_She’s still here._

Loki looked around frantically, eyes settling on the Luphomoid who was half-hidden by Thor standing in front of him.

“Loki,” Thor was saying, but it sounded like he was listening from underwater. “Look at me, not her. Loki!”

He pried his eyes away from Nebula to focus on Thor. 

_Focus on anything else._

_Calm down._

_This isn’t necessary._

_Focus on Thor._

His eyes were wide with a mix of alarm and anger. The eye he had gotten from Rocket (Thor had told him of his journey to Nidavellir with the Guardians and how he had received the eye) was the wrong colour, and slightly off-putting. His beard and hair had regrown since the last time Loki had seen him on the _Statesman,_ where the Titan had him bound in strips of their crumbling ship. Where was she when—

_Focus on anything else but her._

His brother had hardly been taking care of himself at all in his absence, losing himself in indulgence and drink. He was wearing a black coat, boots, and—

_Nebula’s there._

_She’s there._

_She’ll take him back and—_

_Focus on anything else._

“Loki?” Thor asked again, softly this time. His features were obscured, blurry, like he was looking through clouded glass. “What’s wrong, brother?”

His breaths were coming in a short staccato, uneven, choppy. “I’m fine,” he managed, somehow. His voice sounded thin. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—I wasn’t… I… I—” He gasped for air, lurching over, and holding onto Thor’s shoulders for support. _“I can’t breathe, Thor.”_

Thor wrapped his arms around Loki's torso, running his fingers through his hair as he gasped into his shoulder. “Shh,” he whispered, anger fading into worry, then sympathy. “It’s fine. It’s fine. I’m here, brother. I’ve got you.” Thor was warm, and though he had changed, he still held the comforting aura of familiarity. 

Loki did not know how long they stood there, holding each other. He knew that Thor led him away at some point to somewhere between the cabin and the Guardians’ ship. They were still in the woods, though far from the Mad Titan’s daughter. He remembered Thor lowering him to the ground, letting him lean against a tree. It was smart; he probably would have lost his footing eventually. Thor sat beside him and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close. Loki let his head rest on Thor’s shoulder.

“Breathe, brother,” Thor commanded softly. “Just breathe. You’re safe.”

_Safe._

Loki couldn’t see his brother’s face, but he could picture the look between sympathy and pity crossing it.

“Breathe.”

He did. Or at least, he tried to. The breaths sounded closer to short bursts and gasps than full intakes of air. 

_“Breathe.”_

Everything was blurry and Thor’s words were distorted, muffled by his own racing thoughts.

Loki managed to catch a few semi-deep breaths after a few tries but could not hold it for long for the life of him. It had been years since he stumbled out of _Sanctuary_. He _should_ be fine. The Titan was dead and gone. _Reduced to ashes._ He didn’t even have a _body_ left. It had been _years,_ so why couldn’t he stop _thinking_ about it? _Years._

He bit sharply on his tongue, faintly tasting blood, but not feeling the associated sting. Why was his mind _so_ intent on seeing danger where there was none? What was _wrong_ with him?

Eventually, his ragged breaths eased, evened, into calm puffs of air. He was _tired._ He just wanted to sleep for a _very_ long time. Was that too much to ask for? Probably. There was still the funeral, which… 

How long had it been?

Fatigue crashed over him like a wave once more, and Loki managed to audibly mumble, “Tired, Thor.”

“We can go home,” said his brother, pulling him to his feet. Loki stumbled once before balancing himself on Thor. His vision swirled, the colours blending like a piece of distorted artwork. 

Stormbreaker flew into Thor’s hand, and a moment later, the colours of the Bifrost were flashing around them. The rush was enough to send another surge of adrenaline through him. 

They landed on the ground right beside Thor’s house. Loki tumbled over, his limbs felt like jelly, and were not cooperating with him in the slightest.

Though his memory was clouded, foggy, Loki remembered Thor taking him through the messy house that he was slowly clearing out and tucking him into bed. He felt his brother pulling off his shoes, then minutes later, climbing into bed as well—a warm presence that smelled like rain and pine beside him

Rain, pine, and _safety._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! The next chapter comes out Friday.


	3. Afternoons Inside

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Brodinsons have a much-needed talk.

Thor was on the couch, lying down after the funeral. It had been early afternoon when they left Tony’s cabin, but the sun had long since set in New Asgard. Loki was sitting cross-legged in the armchair beside him, reading a book of old Midgardian plays. It was calm, peaceful, even after the minor chaos of the funeral. He didn’t know what he was thinking when he saw Nebula there, just that he had to either kill her or get out of there without delay.

Thor shuffled on the couch, sitting up, and resting his elbows on his knees. “We should talk,” he said deeply. He was wearing the dark red hoodie that looked big on him. Loki couldn’t understand his brother’s obsession with Midgardian clothes. Most of the time, they were made of irritable material, and did not fit right—mass-produced to fit a large group of people just well enough, not specifically made for one. Though, with the excessive number of humans, he could see why such tendencies towards convenience would be preferred to quality.

Loki felt the corners of his lips twist into a sly smirk. “I disagree,” he replied, turning the page casually.

Thor sighed loudly, “Must you?” His chin dropped into his open palms, hiding some of his expression.

Loki looked up from the book and asked, “Must I what?” He plastered a confused look on his face, feigning innocence.

“You can talk to me, you know,” said Thor trepidatiously, and Loki noted that there were several unspoken questions in that statement.

_Why did you attack Nebula?_

_Why did you die for me?_

_Why did you fake your death?_

_Why did you attack Earth?_

_Why did you let go?_

Loki was not, in the _slightest,_ keen on answering that last question. Or any of them, for that matter. He had dodged, deflected, and avoided Thor’s questions for the past four days, keeping up a pretense of exhaustion, but now, it seemed, that charade was coming to its end.

Loki knew that he could talk to Thor, answer the unspoken questions. He could talk, and Thor would listen, but he didn’t _want_ to _._ Loki could explain everything that he had done, but what difference would it make? What would be so different this time? “I could,” he said plainly, returning to his book.

There was a long silence as Thor debated what to say. Loki could tell he was doing so. How could even his brother’s _thoughts_ be loud? Thor caught his eye as Loki looked at him once more. He looked… sincere, Loki had to admit. The expression plagued him until… 

Fine.

_Fine._

The younger snapped the book covers together, leaving a small piece of paper in between to mark his page, then sighed and stood reluctantly. “Would you like me to explain my actions chronologically or by order of relevance?” Loki asked coolly, taking a seat beside Thor on the couch.

Thor looked all too surprised that Loki would be willing to tell him anything. He sputtered for a brief moment, tilting his head to face him directly, then answered, “Relevance.”

Loki huffed softly, leaning back into the scratchy material of the sofa. “Of course.” Chronological order would, logically, make more sense if his brother sought to gain an understanding of his deeds, but alas, _relevance_. Loki motioned for him to begin his line of questioning.

Thor took a deep breath, then sat up and turned around awkwardly to face the younger. “Why did you attack Nebula?”

Loki swallowed. He really should have been expecting that question first. Still, the sheer and complete _straightforwardness_ of how the question was posed caught him off guard. That was Thor’s disposition, Loki supposed, the direct, blunt approach that left little to no room for interpretation. Unlike himself, weaving words into nets with which to trap the victim, closing in with half-truths, hyperbole, and intentionally misread statements. 

“You know she was a daughter of Thanos,” he started calmly, mildly. It was a miracle his voice didn’t quiver, one that he was silently grateful for.

Thor nodded quietly. He was completely, utterly _still,_ unaware of the true meaning behind that stated fact. But it was only that, _a fact,_ not a _reason._

 _I know you’re smarter than most give you credit for, brother,_ thought Loki venomously. _Fill in the blanks on your own._

Thor just stared at him blankly, waiting for Loki to continue.

_Damn. Guess not._

Loki waited long enough for the silence to become uncomfortable before he licked his lips and went on, “After I fell—” _what a euphemism_ “—her sister, Gamora, brought me to _him.”_ Loki repressed a shiver.

_Use his name. It’s only a name._

_Still…_

_“Names have power, Little King. You would be wise to remember that.”_

“Yes,” said Thor, dipping his head slightly. His expression bordered on impatience, but not quite there yet. He furthered, “I know this. Thanos used the Sceptre on you. Is that…” Impatience faded into pity. Loki hated it. “Is that why you attacked her? Vengeance?”

Loki shook his head; he would not call it _vengeance._ “No, not that,” he replied. “Even after my encounter with the Void, my mental defences were stronger than most. The Hawk—Agent Barton—is mortal, and he succumbed to the Sceptre’s will in mere seconds. I was... not so fortunate.”

Thor narrowed his brows, features tightening in an unfortunate lack of understanding. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” said Loki, annoyance creeping into his voice unintentionally. He had no desire to spell out what had happened. Thor should have been able to pick up his meaning from _that._ “In order for the Sceptre to have the intended effect on me, those defences needed to be broken—“ _shattered, more like_ “—or else there may still have been a chance I could break free from his influence.”

Thor went as pale as a sheet, looking entirely horrified. He blinked once, twice; released a ragged exhalation. He looked as if he had seen a draugr, Loki thought. “What— “he stammered, “—what did she do to you?”

Loki averted his gaze to the floor, unable to meet his brother’s eyes any longer. He didn’t need to see his pity—didn’t _want_ it. 

The silence stretched on to be more than uncomfortable. Loki didn’t dare break it.

“Loki?” Thor asked. He sounded nervous, almost, like Loki would break if he misspoke. The younger hated it. He was not _fragile,_ like some delicate maiden that needed to be held at the sight of a little blood. He was a _god_ and could survive worse than most. He _had_ survived worse than most.

Thor looked at him expectantly, and only then did Loki realize that his older brother awaited an answer. _Was_ there an answer? They had done _everything imaginable_ and _then some._ Loki thought that there was very little they _hadn’t_ done.

 _“No,”_ he replied, voice quavering. “I’m not—I’m not going to give you that.”

Thor leaned back and wrapped an arm around him, shifting so that their sides were touching. Loki managed not to flinch at the touch. “You don’t have to,” he said, calm and patient like he could wait forever for Loki to talk, unaware that, if Loki so wished, he could hold his tongue forever; dodge, deflect, and avoid, as he had been doing for days.

He swallowed, deeply, and appended (though, at this point, he was quite unsure of _why_ he was doing so), “It wasn’t just her. There were others. I couldn’t... I... She was far from the worst of them, to be entirely honest.” No, that distinction went to the Other. Ebony Maw took second place, followed by the fire-lovers, then the Luphomoid, then Gamora.

“Loki,” Thor started softly, carefully. He was treating him like glass and Loki _hated_ it. “If you don’t want to tell me, we can table it for now.”

_Table it?_

Of course, another Midgardian expression Thor had picked up while on Earth. Great. “Table it” probably meant delaying, which Loki was fine with, save for the fact that if he stopped now, he was likely never to continue.

“I’ll spare you the details, then,” he lightly replied, aware that Thor’s arm draped over his shoulder had tightened. “Seeing her brought back unpleasant memories. There is no need to worry about this. I doubt this incident will ever be repeated.”

Thor glared at him, but he could see beyond his eyes to the concern lingering beneath. “I am less worried about it being repeated, and more worried about your health.”

Loki, being purposefully ignorant, responded, “I was not injured in the battle.”

“I am not talking about the battle,” Thor shot down his deflection. There was a hard edge to his voice. “I am talking about your mind. I worry about you.”

He waved him off with a light shake of his head: “There’s no need.”

“I disagree.”

“Why’s that?”

 _“‘Why’s that’!?_ You _died!”_ Thor yelled, removing his arm, and roaring to his feet; his face was red with anger. He whirled on Loki sharply. The windowpanes rattled with the volume.

Loki jumped slightly, pushing himself into the back of the couch. It was a poor idea to test his brother’s ire but at the same time… “And?” he asked expectantly, forcing himself to his feet. If he was to face Thor’s anger, he would rather not do it at a disadvantage. Then slipped out, “I’ve done it before.” 

_Twice before, actually. You are quite unable to die, it would seem._

Loki could recognize that familiar spark of pure anger in his eyes. Damn. He was in for it now. Thor’s rage was like a flame set on dry leaves; it burned brightly, hot, and high, but did not last. However, that did not make it any less unpleasant.

Thor growled, and Loki took an unconscious step backwards towards the door. It didn’t matter. Thor was grasping him by the jacket and lifting him an inch off the floor by it. He pushed him against the wall roughly, and Loki tensed, waiting. His heart was beating out of his chest. Thor wouldn’t hurt him, but… _“Stop trying to be funny!_ You made me watch you die _again!”_ Thor yelled, then sighed deeply, though he didn’t loosen his grip.

Loki’s breathing hitched as he managed, “Thor, put me down.” His brother did so, though not all too gently, then tried to grab the back of his neck, only to think better of it at the last moment and go for his left shoulder instead. Loki suppressed a flinch; having anything that close was… not welcome.

“Sorry,” he mumbled quietly, guilt written plainly across his features. “I didn’t—I’m sorry.”

Loki tentatively rested a hand on his back as Thor fell forward and sobbed into his shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re alive, brother,” the Thunderer whispered, barely audible. “You can’t keep doing this to me, Loki. You _can’t.”_

“I know,” the younger replied softly. “I’m sorry. I know. There was no other way.” Thor didn’t let him go. His brother was colder than usual, but he still smelled like _Thor,_ like ozone and water on the cobblestones, like pine trees during the brief winters on Asgard. Loki took it all in despite the currently heated situation.

“No more dying. I’m serious,” Thor chided flatly, breaking away, and Loki shook his head.

He sidestepped around him, returning to the couch now that Thor’s fit of rage had, for the most part, passed. “Only one of us was going to make it off that ship alive,” Loki said matter-of-factly, sitting down and relaxing into it. Once he got over the irritable material, the plushness of the couch was not entirely horrible.

Thor’s glare returned as he took his place beside him: “So you made sure it was me.”

He nodded slowly, closing his eyes. “It was a good way to die—the best I could hope for, at least.”

“I would prefer you didn’t die at all.”

Loki leaned into Thor, feeling a wave of emotional exhaustion after the confrontation. “I know. I’m sorry. Better me than you.”

Thor flinched, jostling Loki slightly. “You can’t mean that.”

“Can’t I?”

That earned a look of sheer horror from Thor.

“My fate was sealed the _moment_ I let go of Gungnir.” Loki paused for a moment to let that sink in. “Believe me, it was best this way.” Death, for Loki, always seemed to be steps away. His fall from the Bifrost should have killed him, the Kursed on Svartalfheim should have killed him, the Titan— _T_ _hanos_ — _did_ kill him.

“Loki…” Thor sighed softly. Loki hated the look on his face: pity. It was as useless as his attempts to delay this very conversation.

“It was,” he repeated firmly, convincing himself as well as his brother. _It was._

Thor sat up and leaned forward, quiet for a moment, before turning around and grabbing Loki’s shoulders. “Do you have a death wish?” he asked without a single tell that he was joking, and Loki went tense, painfully aware that his brother could likely feel it.

“Don’t be absurd,” he replied, deflecting. Loki shrugged him off. “Why would I—”

“Don’t avoid the question,” Thor cut, raising the volume, and dropping his hand. “You attacked _Thanos_ with a _dagger!_ A tiny _toothpick!_ You can’t expect me to believe—”

“Believe what?” Loki interrupted harshly, pushing past his brother to stand. “That dying was my best plan?”

Thor was about to yell something in return, but Loki stopped him, “It _wasn’t_ my best plan because _every_ other plan _failed_. _He_ has been my only mission, my _life,_ for _years._ Do you _honestly think_ that I would not have backups that did not result in either of our deaths?”

“Loki…” Thor attempted to calm him, rising to his feet as well with his hands outstretched in a somewhat placating manner. “Brother…”

“That wasn’t the _best_ plan, it was the _last_ plan—the _only_ plan. The Titan—Thanos—” his voice shook with the name, but he _could_ say it now (he was dead), “—believes—believed—” (he was _dead_ ) “—solely in balance. Half and half. Half live, half die. He was never going to allow both of us to walk out of there alive, especially after my failure on Midgard.”

“And that meant sacrificing yourself? There had to have been another way?” Thor reached for his wrist, and Loki pulled away, recoiling with a snarl.

“Were you not _listening?_ There was _no other way._ That was _it._ Do you think I _wanted_ to die? No, I was _finally_ doing something _right_ for once! The other plans failed. It was by sheer _luck_ that he allowed even one of us to get out of there alive. _Every_ other plan failed, and I would rather die like that a _thousand times_ than be returned to _Sanctuary_ in a universe where _he_ won.”

Thor swallowed deeply, and Loki could see the tears welling in his eyes, threatening to fall if he continued like this. He inhaled sharply and let the conversation rest there.

“Sorry,” Loki murmured. “It’s not your fault.”

His brother slowly nodded, eyes red and puffy. He sniffed once before asking, “Would you tell me the other plans?”

Loki forcefully relaxed: “Why?”

“I just…” Thor hesitated, looking away, almost as if he were shameful of the answer. “I need to know that this was it.” He sat down again, burying his face in his palms.

“That there was nothing you could do?” Loki added, joining him, and Thor nodded once, tersely. “There was nothing. This was the best option.”

“You had the Tesseract,” Thor noted. “Why not use it to get out of there?

“And then what?” Loki threw up a hand randomly.

“You would not have died, for one,” Thor said matter-of-factly.

Loki said softly, barely whispering, “But you would have.”

Thor startled, surprise written on his features in his widened eyes and slightly open jaw.

“Then later, he would have caught up with me eventually.” Sorrowfully, “I was never meant to survive this.”

“But you did.”

Loki gave a weak attempt at a smile. “I did.”

Thor returned it warmly and wrapped him in a hug, squishing his shoulders together. “And I am glad for that,” he breathed. Their legs awkwardly tangled between them, squished together uncomfortably.

Loki teased, “Sentimental oaf,” into his brother’s Midgardian clothing, though he guessed the words were slightly muffled by the fabric.

“Admit it,” Thor said, squeezing him tighter. “You love it.”

“I admit nothing,” Loki said with a light smile, which he only allowed because his brother wouldn’t see.

Thor broke apart, but kept his grip on his shoulders. “Truly though,” he said sincerely. “I am glad you are here. Alive.”

Loki nodded. “As am I,” he agreed.

“What do you plan to do now?” asked Thor. It almost seemed cautious, as if he were afraid to even ask, or afraid of the answer. More likely the latter, thought the younger.

Loki sighed and averted his gaze. The question wasn’t so much _‘what are your plans?’_ as it was _‘are you going to stay?’._ “I have no idea, to be honest,” he admitted. “I was thinking of staying here for a while, though, as it is, I am not entirely sure I am welcome.”

“The humans will see the truth of what happened in New York. It wasn’t your fault,” Thor said, so sure of himself that it made Loki want to scold him. Just because he believed or wanted something, did not necessarily make it true.

Perhaps not, but… “And if I do not wish for them to see?” He released an involuntary shudder at the thought of having to relive any moments on _Sanctuary._ Seeing Nebula there was bad enough, dredging up painful memories that had long been repressed by a need to focus on staying alive.

Thor’s eyes flicked to the side briefly before he asked, “How else will we convince them to let you stay?”

Loki shrugged. “We don’t tell them?” he offered.

“Brother…” Thor scolded lightly, with something of a chiding expression on his face.

“That is a legitimate option,” Loki pointed out before Thor could finish whatever he was about to say. “With my magic back at full strength, I could worldwalk between New Asgard, Vanaheim, and Alfheim.”

“And when someone eventually lets it slip?” Thor tilted his head and arched an eyebrow. “Fury knows you’re here. Ross knows as well, probably. It’s really only a matter of time.”

As much as he loathed to admit it, Loki knew his brother was right. If the people of Earth decided he was no longer permitted on their realm, they could very well cause several serious problems. He knew he could avoid detection and their sensors, could slip in and out without cause for suspicion, but Thor was still right. Eventually, someone with loose lips would spill, and without the ability to contain _him,_ they might turn against Asgard.

“Then we will deal with that when we get there,” Loki said nonchalantly, waving a hand through the air, though he knew it was a serious concern.

“I would rather deal with that _now.”_

“I’m sure you would.”

Thor’s face flushed red in a momentary flare of anger, but he settled a moment later. “What’s on Vanaheim and Alfheim?” he asked.

Loki grinned. “Respectively, the largest library in the Nine, and a prospective teaching position at a university.”

His brother’s eyes widened with his warm smile. “Really?”

“Yes,” Loki answered, smirking slightly at his brother’s enthusiasm. “I may even accept it. Unless,” he added quickly, “I am needed here, of course.”

Thor looked sheepish. “I don’t think I could refuse the help, but…” he looked away, then back to Loki to meet his eyes, “if that’s what you want, I want you to be happy, even if that’s not here.” His eyes fell downwards, and Loki rubbed at the creases in his palms anxiously.

“I would not be there constantly,” he said softly. At Thor’s mild look of skepticism, he added, “Classes would be thrice a week at most, and the rest of the work could be done elsewhere. Here. I am only asking if you need my help _running_ New Asgard; if you need my _time.”_

“I…” Thor started, then drifted off into his thoughts with glazed eyes as Loki awaited an answer. “Brunnhilde has been a great help, and now with Heimdall and the remainder of the council returned, I think we will be able to manage. If you want to go—”

“I do,” Loki cut, then paused, waiting for Thor to continue the conversation. Alfheim’s university in the capital city was vast and renowned throughout the Nine Realms and beyond for its facilities. During one of his visits before Thor’s botched coronation where everything went to Hel, he had visited the university for a few specific classes on certain thaumaturgical theories. One of the professors had noted the lack of the Bifrost at his arrival, and after a rather fascinating discussion on worldwalking, the elf had said they would be lucky to have an expert on-site. It wasn’t _exactly_ an offer, but the idea intrigued him, and Loki had always thought of the possible teaching position as a backup for if everything went south, and he had to lie low.

He really should have taken it after Asgard’s destruction, but then there was the opportunity to fix things with his brother, and Asgard needed both of her princes, and then there was the Titan. Without a further need for dozens of backup plans, Loki thought it might be all right to explore a few of them for the sake of his curiosity. 

“Okay,” Thor croaked dismally, expression taut and unnaturally forced. He thought Loki was going to leave _permanently._

“I will be here more often than not,” Loki appended to ease his brother’s concern. “No need to fret. And I can still assist with the affairs of New Asgard as well.”

“Well,” said Thor, lips tilting into a tight frown at the corners, “you do have some experience with that, don’t you?”

Loki scoffed, “Not that I enjoyed it, but yes. Nearly as much as you, at this point.” His four years on Asgard’s throne were never fun. It was exhausting—mentally making decisions that remained true to Odin’s character—and it was taxing on his magic to maintain the illusion constantly. Needless to say, Loki did _not_ want the throne for another extended period of time, though advising it would be quite all right.

Thor hummed. “Four years,” he murmured. It sounded rough, like coarse sandpaper, and Loki stilled at the tone.

“Yes,” he replied mildly. “Sorry about that.”

“You let me think you were dead for _four years.”_

“Yes,” Loki repeated. “Well, it was either: inform you of my survival and return to prison, where nobody would visit or think of me again, my life wasting away until the Titan came for the Tesseract, or I could start again and prepare for his arrival. I chose the latter.”

“And banishing father to Earth?” Thor demanded, volume rising.

“It was fitting, was it not?” Loki casually responded. “Seeing as it was your banishment that began this whole mess.” In truth, it was the fact they made it to Jotunheim, to begin with, but that was beside the point. 

“He died because of your actions!” Thor threw his arms up, and Loki leaned away from him unconsciously. He would not strike him intentionally, but when his ire was raised, nobody in the blast radius was safe.

“He _chose_ to stay,” Loki remarked.

“After _you_ sent him there to die!”

“What would you have me do?”

 _“Not_ usurp the throne, for one.”

_“What would you have me do?”_

“Come home. With me,” Thor answered, calming down. His face was still red, but his posture had relaxed, and he no longer looked murderous. “Explain what happened after you fell, then we could go after those who hurt you.”

Loki scoffed at the thought, speechless at his brother’s ignorance.

“What?” demanded Thor, glare returning.

“As if Father would have listened to _me._ And there is no safety from the Titan, save for that which comes in death. Remaining _“dead”_ kept me _alive.”_

Thor huffed but didn’t retort. “You really need to stop faking your death,” he said jokingly instead. “It’s become a habit of yours recently.”

_If only he knew._

“I’ll do my best,” Loki replied dryly. “But if it’s any consolation, I never intended to fake it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Truly, brother, I very nearly died on Svartalfheim, and certainly _did_ die on the _Statesman.”_ Loki left the instance on the Bifrost out of his list; there was no need to get into that now. He would be lying if he said he was not purposeful avoiding the subject.

“‘Nearly’?” asked Thor.

Loki nodded tentatively.

“You were impaled,” Thor noted, realization and shock creeping into his voice as his face morphed into a look of pure distress. “You…” he trailed off. “I left you there.”

“I believed the wound was mortal as well. You had no reason to stay.”

“I—I’m sorry.”

Loki shook his head. “There is nothing to apologize for.”

“I— _All of us_ failed you.”

“Not nearly half as much as I have,” Loki countered with a light sigh. “My plans have the unfortunate habit of falling to pieces at the slightest interference.”

“But that was not your fault.”

“Perhaps not,” Loki allowed, and in truth, the carefully laid plans tended to collapse due to timing errors or unfortunate coincidence. All the same, “I do not know.”

“I’ll make it up to you,” Thor vowed determinedly. “I can earn your forgiveness, I promise.

“You already have. I’m here, aren’t I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! :) All comments/kudos are appreciated!


	4. Anything Else?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Avengers almost mess up real bad. _Almost._ Loki and Strange have a (not) fun time fixing it. And Thor is the smartest Avenger (no sarcasm).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It kind of made me angry—how Endgame expected us to believe that Steve could return the Power Stone out of the Orb because nobody can touch it; Space Stone without the Tesseract; the Mind Stone without the Sceptre; the Aether as a solid rather than a liquid. Last little fix it before the end.

_Thank the Norns,_ Thor had asked Loki if he would like to see their time machine in action. The younger had asked how they had managed it, and Thor had said something about quantum science that the older did not understand, inviting him to watch as they returned the Stones. Quantum sciences were not required learning material on Asgard, but Loki found them interesting, nonetheless. If nothing else, it would be interesting to see the machine.

It was a blessing in disguise his brother had offered; if he had not, the sheer _idiocy_ of the humans was sure to wipe them from existence, create infinite diverging timelines, or erase all of reality as they knew it. _Idiots. Utter, utter idiots._

“Now,” Banner had said definitively, opening a slick black briefcase containing the Stones with his left hand; the right had been permanently scarred during the snap, and was currently resting in a sling. “Remember, you have to return the stones to the exact moment you got them. Or you're going to open up a bunch of nasty alternative realities.”

Loki had looked on in sheer horror as the Captain closed the case and nonchalantly replied, “Don't worry, Bruce. Clip all the branches.” He started to walk towards the platform with them.

“What of their casings?” Loki asked, allowing the shock to creep in his voice; he could not believe the sheer recklessness of the humans. Did they expect they would be able to return the Stones in their pure gem forms? Or did the Captain’s ridiculous outfit deprive him of all common sense?

Banner and the Captain shared a look before the former inquired, “What do you mean ‘casings’?”

“The Stones do not like to be touched, Doctor,” Loki explained, stepping around his brother to face them directly. “How can you expect your past selves to manage them in their raw forms? The Aether will not be able to possess Doctor Foster because, as a Stone, it no longer holds that capability. You are returning the Space Stone to New York, but how will we be able to use it to return to Asgard if the Tesseract is not there to stabilize its power? The same applies to the other Stones.”

Banner’s lips parted in a small gasp, and his eyes went as wide at realizing the near-critical error. “Right,” he breathed, posture sheepish, like he was trying to make himself smaller. “We should probably do something about that.”

“Any ideas?” asked the Captain. The rest of the group—made up of Bruce, Bucky, Thor, Loki, and a dark-skinned man whose name he did not know—gave a collective shrug. Turning to Banner, he questioned, “How did you get them out of the casings in the first place?”

Bruce hesitated for only a moment before replying: “We compressed the Aether, then froze it. The Tesseract was made up of some crystal-ice thing, so we melted that. Tony broke the Sceptre’s gem with a laser; like how Ultron did it in Korea. The Power Stone was in some sort of puzzle thing that Rocket decoded.”

“Okay,” Loki crossed his arms and walked up to the small console. “Where’s the melted crystal?” He could probably reshape and freeze it if it came down to that. Not that shifting into that form would be pleasant—it never was—but if it was necessary… 

Bruce pointed a thumb over his shoulder to the wreckage of the building behind him. “Somewhere under all that.”

Loki sighed deeply. Whose idea was it to keep the Stones and the time machine at the same location? Furthermore, whose idea was it to leave the casings lying around where they could easily be stolen or lost? He was going to throttle whoever it was. It would take ages to dig the bits of melted crystal, the Sceptre and the broken halves of the Orb out of that mess. Though he loathed to admit it, there was one option that would make the process go much faster. Reluctantly, he declared: “We’re going to need Strange.”

“Wh—why?” Thor stuttered, lumbering up to the console with his eyebrows furrowed.

“He previously guarded the Time Stone,” Loki answered flatly. The very idea of working with the arrogant sorcerer made his jaw set. “I assume he has a fairly adequate understanding of its workings. If we can bring him here, he can return them to their casings without dealing with—” he pointed to the rubble “—that.”

“I can give him a call,” Bruce offered at the same time Thor said cheerily, “I’ll send him an email.”

Loki did not know what an “email” was, but he didn’t need to. “No need,” he said simply and slipped between the boundaries of the realms to the branches of Yggdrasil. Most scholars and magic-users described Midgard as a nexus point for the Nine. It was like an intersection or one of those points on a Midgardian “highway” that connected routes. No, that wasn’t right exactly. Midgard was an airport (so he had been reading up on Midgard’s ways, so what?), a place where travellers could pass through to be elsewhere. For Loki, that meant that the realm had thousands upon thousands of paths to travel; quick access to anywhere.

Including the amateur’s Sanctum in New York, which came into view as soon as his vision adjusted to the dimmer lighting. The first thing he noted was the air, which was stale from the lack of windows, stuffy and dry and unpleasant. He landed in the foyer and was immediately met by an enormous grand staircase. Of which, Strange was levitating above.

“How did you get past the wards?” he demanded, lowering to the floor, and skipping down the last few steps down the stairs. The Cloak of Levitation billowed behind him, flowing in a breeze that Loki could not feel.

“Not important,” he dismissed the question, waving a hand. Strange’s magic prevented unwelcome entrances through any entry point in the house. Well, any _physical_ entry point in the house. Returning to the problem at hand, Loki said, “There are larger problems.”

“Such as?” Strange queried, angling his head and arching an eyebrow.

Loki crossed his arms. “The Avengers are attempting to return the Stones _without_ their casings.”

Strange looked as if he had seen a draugr. “‘Attempting’, right?” he checked anxiously, face paling further.

“Indeed,” Loki confirmed. “Unfortunately,” he added with a slight dip of his head, “the materials needed to put them back in said casings are buried under the remains of their compound.”

“So, you need me to use the Time Stone,” finished the mortal.

Loki nodded once. “Yes.”

Strange frowned deeply and shuffled his feet. “I don’t have the Eye,” he admitted somewhat hesitantly. “I’ll need that.”

“Why?” inquired Loki, narrowing his eyes. 

“It held the Time—”

“Yes,” he interrupted smoothly. “I know it held the Time Stone. Why do you need it? We _have_ the Time Stone at the Compound.”

“I can’t use the Stone without it.”

_Norns._

_Amateur._

“Well, where is it?” he demanded, patience thinning quickly.

“I… hid it. In the Mirror Dimension.”

Loki sighed deeply and fought off the urge to roll his eyes. This was just getting better and better. “Why not use foldspace?” he asked rhetorically.

“Because that’s… it wouldn’t be safe there.”

_If he had any idea how to properly craft one, it would be._

“Where in the Mirror Dimension?”

“Titan.”

Loki slumped. Great. Why did this sorcerer insist on making everything several times more difficult than it had to be? Why _Titan_ of all places? The planet was more isolated than any other realm Loki knew of; only a few paths from Yggdrasil stretched that far. They would need to take a detour, likely through Muspelheim (that would _not_ be fun), then a day’s journey through the branches to the Titan’s home world. Of course, this was all assuming that the mortal could survive that long without an attachment to a realm. Brilliant. “All right. I can—”

Strange made a small circling gesture in the air with his hand before Loki could finish. A round portal with glowing orange sparks appeared in the air as he felt it pulling on the fabric of reality.

“That works,” he said simply, refusing to mention any hint of his previous plan. The amateur did not need to know of that.

“I thought you liked the portals,” the mortal remarked indignantly.

Loki scoffed. “I can’t _not_ recognize a talent for the mystic arts. Asgard was not… kind in its perceptions of seiðmaðr.” That was the understatement of the millennia. Asgard was _beyond_ unkind in its views of magic, it was hypocritical. Odin could use seiðr, but should any other man attempt to do the same, he would be publicly shamed for choosing such a “womanly” art to pursue. Loki had been called ‘ergi’more times than he could count.

Strange gave him an odd look but did not reply to that comment, so Loki continued: “Holding dozens at once was impressive. One is hardly worthy of such acknowledgements.”

The human rolled his eyes, then defended himself resolutely: “I’m portalling us thousands upon thousands of light-years away.”

“You are no worldwalker, Stephen Strange,” said Loki, shooting him a glare and stepping through the portal. The humid, stifling air of Titan washed over him, momentarily drowning out his senses.

The leather he was wearing would not be pleasant in the sweltering heat, sticking and sweating. He had half a mind to be rid of the unnecessary layers. The sooner they could get off this cursed planet, the better.

Strange followed behind shortly after, closing the portal with a flick of his fingers. “I’m glad I’m not,” said the mortal with a hint of something Loki recognized as scorn. “That’s more than dangerous. Attempting to worldwalk is _suicidal.”_

Loki bristled, tense, as he stepped carefully among piles of rubble and debris.

 _Worldwalking is_ not _suicidal. Not if you know what you’re doing, at least._

Which the mortal obviously did not.

“Take the wrong path,” said Strange, glancing around at the wreckage of the desolate landscape, “and you end up in a volcano somewhere on an alien planet.” He shuddered but kept his pace.

“Are you speaking from experience?” Loki asked with a snide smirk.

The man stared at him challengingly. “I’d like to see you do better.”

Loki’s grin widened. “Remind me to show you Vanaheim’s library one day,” he said mirthfully.

“Is it in a volcano?”

Loki rolled his eyes. “Why would they put books, made of _paper,_ in a _volcano?”_

Strange shrugged. “I wouldn’t exactly trust you not to drop me in one at the nearest opportunity,” he admitted.

“Mutual,” Loki agreed, hardening his gaze. The sorcerer had not dropped him into a _volcano,_ no, but that would have been better than falling for half an hour. It wasn’t like the Void—falling through Strange’s portal. There was warmth. He could hear (his own screams). There was _air._ Not like the soundless and cold oblivion of the abyss. In the Void, there was truly _nothing._

_Stop,_ he thought, noticing his heavy breathing. _Don’t think about that now._

_Falling._

_Cold._

It was a sharp contrast to Titan’s oppressively hot atmosphere. The whole planet held the unrelenting temperature of a dessert.

“Well, _worldwalker,”_ said Strange, cutting through his thoughts. Back to reality, Loki glowered at him. “You should have been able to get out of there pretty easily if you’re as good as you claim.”

Through clenched teeth, Loki muttered, “I would have.” He _could_ _have._ Any sorcerer worth their craft would be able to get out of there in a heartbeat. In all honesty, had he been on solid ground, he would have sent Strange clumsily tumbling through foldspace. But…

_Falling._

_Cold._

_What’s on the other side of the abyss?_

“Would you like to prove that?” Strange snarked, lifting a hand with two shaking fingers pointed skywards. A few faint orange sparks hissed in the air above his hand.

Loki whirled on him with a snarl: “Don’t you _dare.”_

The human blinked at his tone, but that was the only reaction he got. “I won’t,” Strange assured, moving on. “At least, not until we get the Eye.”

Well, better than nothing. “Do you have any idea where it is?” he asked.

“Around here.”

_Brilliant._

“But,” he added quickly, “the Mirror Dimension is fluid. It could have—”

Loki interrupted, “I know how it works.” He brought himself and the amateur into the Mirror Dimension with a thought.

Strange swallowed once, hard, and looked around at the shapes of Titan’s ruined architecture duplicating and warping around them.

It took less than five minutes to find the Stone. Between Strange’s knowledge of the Time Stone’s workings and Loki’s restored magic _finally_ being able to manage complex tracking spells, they found it quickly.

Strange said nothing as he created a portal out of the Mirror Dimension for them, and said nothing as he hung the amulet from his neck, with shaking fingers.

A full minute of silence later, Loki asked expectantly, “Are you going to make your portal, or are we to wait here all day?”

Strange tilted his head in a way that made Loki want to punch the pretentious human. “I thought you wanted to show off your worldwalking.”

“Not… here,” he said, looking around at the ruined planet. The Titan’s home world was not an easy destination, nor was it an easy place to leave. Worldwalking was _complex,_ unlike the simplistic portals the Midgardian sorcerers used. Besides, Titan was an exceptional case when it came to worldwalking. The planet was utterly ruined by wars that had affected even its rotations, making it nearly impossible to reach through the branches of Yggdrasil.

“Fine,” Strange scoffed, gesturing with his hand to make a portal back to the wreckage of the Avengers’ Compound.

“We tried calling,” said Banner as they stepped through, throwing up a hand randomly in annoyance. “Nobody picked up.”

“We were off-planet,” Strange explained, sifting through the remaining Avengers with his eyes.

Loki watched Thor’s eyebrows arch, then narrow. “Uh, why?” asked his brother.

He shot a half-glare at the amateur. “This _sorcerer,”_ said Loki, not looking away, “decided it was a good idea to leave a magical artifact— _hundreds_ of years old—unguarded in the Mirror Dimension thousands of light-years away for five years.”

Strange gave him a withering look, then returned to the topic at hand. He asked: “Where are the Stones?”

“Here,” Banner answered, holding up the black briefcase.

The mortal opened the case without pomp or ceremony, set the Time Stone in the amulet, then stepped back as he motioned with his hands at the remaining Stones. Green mandalas appeared in the air—a contrast from their usual orange—and Loki examined the runes with carefully concealed interest. The spells were, in fact, rather intricate, and if nothing else, their appearance was satisfying, though flashy. In mere seconds, all were returned to their original forms.

The Sceptre _sang_ to him, a corrupted call that promised power and offered only pain in return. Loki eyed it warily, keeping his distance from the horrid thing. He shuffled closer to Thor subtly; if it tried to take him, Thor was the least likely to kill him before he could push it out.

“How am I supposed to carry all of this?” the Captain asked as the mortal returned the Stone to its place in the case beside the Soul Stone. Those two were the only ones that were obtained outside any casings.

Bruce brought a hand up to his chin. “What about… Scott?” he suggested. “Where’s he at? He can shrink them.”

_Shrink them?_

“Is that safe?” asked Strange, closing the briefcase.

Loki shrugged lightly. “Maybe. I wouldn’t test it.” The Tesseract was always difficult in pocket dimensions because he couldn’t break down the molecules. On the _Statesman,_ he’d kept it in foldspace to hide it. He did not doubt the same would apply to the other Stones. “You have to travel through the quantum realm to go through time, do you not? Who is to say the Stones would not be unable to shrink further and expand during your journey?”

Strange nodded in acknowledgement. “He’s right,” he sighed, looking more than a little galled to admit as such. “That might not work.”

“This is a problem,” the Captain declared. “Are there any other options?”

“It might not matter,” Bruce said, shrugging. “From our theories, we may have created an alternate timeline that’s been isolated from ours, so…”

“So, anything I do might not make a difference?” Steve filled in.

“Might not. I’m pretty sure.”

“So why does it matter if they’re in their casings?” asked Steve.

Strange answered casually with a shrug: “You may as well make things easier for your alternates.”

Thor turned to Loki suddenly, face lighting up, and asked: “Can you spell your space-pocket thing?”

“My what?” asked Loki, squinting at him, puzzled.

Thor moved his hands frantically, looking for the right word. “Space-pocket thing,” he repeated animatedly. “Where you keep, like, five-hundred daggers, a whole wardrobe, and enough books for a second location of Vanaheim’s library?”

Loki was torn between laughing and groaning in exasperation. He did not have _five-hundred_ daggers. That would hardly be responsible. No, there were well over a thousand.

“Dimensional pocket,” he filled in, settling on a slightly exasperated chuckle.

“Yes. That. Could you spell it, so you have access to it across times?”

Loki stared off to the side as he thought about it. “Technically, but why would we do that?” It would be difficult, likely requiring multiple sorcerers, and all above Strange’s calibre. The spell work to do such a thing would be… that could take _weeks_ to work through.

“If you do that, then you put the Stones there, and your past self, who helped Steve and Tony with the Tesseract, can bring them out when Steve arrives,” Bruce answered, catching onto his brother’s thought.

“That’s… not a terrible idea,” Strange concurred.

“Could it work?” the Captain asked.

Loki pondered the idea for a moment, then answered: “No. You would have to track down my past self in each of the times from which you took the Stones. That is going to be—” 

— _New York would be easiest, but the time from which they took the Soul and Power Stones, he was on the throne of Asgard. During their theft of the Aether, he was in the dungeons_ —

“—nearly impossible,” he finished, shaking his head.

“Why? If you tell us where you were—”

“New York will be easy,” Loki cut in smoothly. “Asgard… You are going to have to break into the most well-guarded prison in the Nine Realms. In 2014, I sent Odin to Earth and took the throne. You would have to do that without revealing anything to the entire court, which is neither a simple nor easy task.”

“I only need possible,” said the Captain, his gaze intensifying.

Loki shook his head. “That isn’t the only problem,” he continued. “The Stones were never in my dimensional pocket. That required breaking down objects to their base particles and reassembling them. The Infinity Stones cannot be destroyed. They were never in my pocket, to begin with.”

Thor looked positively puzzled for a moment, then asked: “So where—”

“Did I keep the Tesseract?” Loki interrupted seamlessly, and at his brother’s quick nod, he answered, “Foldspace. Something entirely different. However, choose an unstable region, and it might work,” though that would complicate matters even further.

“I don’t like the sound of ‘unstable’,” said Banner, sagging.

Loki tilted his head in acknowledgement. “Of course,” he added, “this is discounting the fact that, in 2012, if _every Infinity Stone magically appeared in my cache_ , I would not fail to notice, and immediately use them.” Not to mention that spelling the pocket across times would immediately give him access to them _all the time._ Which… well. That would not work taking into consideration his time on _Sanctuary._

“Great,” said Strange, whirling around and pacing between the console and the edge of the tree line. “That’s a big problem for our alternates if you win New York.”

Loki scoffed before his brother had the chance to object. “I would not use them for that, but to kill the—” _use his name_ “—to kill Thanos.”

Strange looked skeptical of that. “I thought you were working for him.”

“Sabotaging, more like,” said Loki with a thin smirk. “The point stands.”

“So, we’re back at square one.”

“Basically.”

“But they made it through the first time,” said the Captain, confusion written over his features and into his voice.

“Then you just need a bigger bag.”

Bruce, Strange, Loki, and the Captain all shot Thor confused expressions.

“No, really. Look,” said Thor, motioning with his hands. “If they all made it through the first time, then just get a backpack or something. You don’t _need_ some special magical storage unit.”

Everyone gave a collective sigh at the realization. Thor was right; they were overcomplicating things needlessly. Loki had to admit that he was proud of his brother for somehow acquiring a brain during his absence.

“And the Sceptre?” asked the Captain, pointing to the weapon. It was extended to its full length, glowing blue gem at the tip. Its song was one of pain and temptation, and Loki threw up his walls to it, shielding his mind from the Stone’s energy. It prodded at them but did not attempt anything further.

“If you hold it,” Loki answered, tone intentionally flat, “its length will shift to that which is most convenient.”

“Seriously?”

“It changed lengths several times during the battle, Captain. I am surprised you did not notice.” He was about to offer a demonstration but quickly thought better of it. This idea of having the Mind Stone that close to him—of _touching_ the Sceptre—did not appeal to him in the slightest.

“So, it just needs a different case,” he concluded. “Easy.”

Strange conjured a solid case with which to contain the Sceptre, and Loki found the Tesseract’s containment device in his dimensional pocket for the Captain to use (it had been in the Vault, which he had more or less raided (he couldn’t very well abandon countless artifacts to the fire, could he?) before summoning Surtur). Finally, Bruce emptied one of the duffle bags on the ground, and placed everything but the Sceptre within. The only Stones still inside the first briefcase were Time and Soul.

“All right,” said Bruce when everything was ready. “Is there anything else?” Looking at the Captain, he asked, “Do you have the back-up time watch and particles? I don’t think anything’s going to go wrong, but…”

“Of course,” he replied, nodding. “Just a precaution.” The Captain wandered over to his friends, the one Loki did not recognize, and Bucky. 

“Anything else?” Thor asked, swinging around to his side.

“No. I think they’re ready.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In my mind, worldwalking applies most easily to the Nine Realms, and any other world could be difficult to get to. Seeing as Titan is not one of the Nine and (according to Quill) is “eight degrees off its axis. Gravitational pull is all over the place.” So… Titan’s a bit of an exceptional case when it comes to worldwalking. And Loki knows this; he’s done his research. Thanks for reading!


	5. The Alternate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The last loose end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow! The last chapter of the last work of this series. Thanks for making it all the way to the end with me!

The bald lady on the roof of the building had not given her name. She accepted the Time Stone, thanked him, then sent Steve on his way. He had no objections to that, taking the stairs down the oddly decorated house in the village. There were strange objects everywhere that made his hair stand on end.

Steve changed into more casual clothes in an alley once he got out and walked speedily through the damaged streets of New York. Not one for elaborate disguises, Steve stuck with the classic baseball-cap-and-sunglasses getup. The destruction was immense, bodies on the street—both human and Chitauri. His stomach twisted at the sight of them.

Besides at the funeral, Steve had talked to Loki once, and he could safely say that this invasion did not seem to be his style at all.

The guy was actually kind of likeable; he thought of things that the Avengers didn’t like returning the Stones with their casings so their alternates could handle them better. Said Stones were in a large backpack along with the change of clothes. The Sceptre, still long but not overly so, was in a briefcase similar to the one he’d had when they tried to take them the first time.

Steve reached the alley where he left Loki less than fifteen minutes later, half expecting him to be gone. Which… he was. There was nothing there save for a few rats. The car Tony and Scott had been sitting in was still covered in rubble and debris. Steve paced down the alley, looking around the area frantically. If Loki wasn’t here, who was he supposed to give the Sceptre and the Tesseract to? Thor needed the cube to get back to Asgard, and he wasn’t about to hand it over to Hydra. The Sceptre… he wasn’t sure Loki would want anything to do with it (he kept shooting the thing nervous glances before Steve had left), but giving it to SHIELD was as good as giving it to Hydra so that they could experiment on kids with it.

Yeah, no.

A flash of green light caught his attention, drawing his eyes to the car. Previously empty, Loki was sitting in the driver’s seat with his arm hanging out the window. The position reminded him startlingly of Tony. “That was quick,” the god noted.

Steve shrugged, but inwardly released an enormous sigh of relief. The thought of seeing Tony and Nat here, _alive,_ would be too much, knowing what was to happen to them. He replied: “Time just works like that.” Steve slid the bag off his shoulders and reached inside for the cube. It was in another contraption that would allow him to pick it up—something that future-Loki had pulled out of nowhere. “It wasn’t quick for me.” He removed the cube from the bag.

Loki readily took the Tesseract as he got out of the car, and freed it from the container, which Steve put back in the bag. The Sceptre, he reluctantly took, tense and wary as he sent a pulse of green through it before the weapon returned to its previous full-body length. Steve was more than glad that he hadn't needed to carry around a longer version of it.

Loki made a flicking gesture with his finger and both disappeared in a brief flash. After a moment of contemplation, he asked hopefully, “So you did it then? You won?”

Steve nodded, giving a weak smile. “We did,” he confirmed. The memories of loss still stung. Natasha—Natasha died for it, sacrificing herself for _them._ And Tony… Steve shook himself from his thoughts. He could mourn later, but for now, he had a mission.

Loki released a small huff of air and ran his hand over his face. His shoulders eased, his whole posture relaxed, and Steve could see the corners of his lips tilt up in a minute smile.

“Everything worked out,” Steve repeated. “Really, it did.”

“And—” Loki swallowed, hard “—And my brother?”

“Thor’s fine,” Steve answered, watching Loki give into a grin. Then, because Bruce was convinced that this was an alternate timeline now, isolated from theirs, he went on, “Banner managed to bring you back as well.”

“Huh,” he breathed, sitting on the hood of the car. He listed to one side, and Steve thought he was going to fall over for a moment before he righted himself. His face was taut, but above all, he just looked relieved, completely _relieved,_ and Steve could understand that feeling. It came with watching Thanos turn to dust. Just that… it was _over._

He narrowed his eyes, and sighed, somewhat judgmentally, “Yeah. Although, all of this probably could have been avoided if you told us here and now.” In any case, his judgment was warranted; he could have _told_ them, and he _didn’t._ And look at what had happened.

_Nat died._

_And Tony died._

_And—_

It wasn’t his fault.

It was _all_ of theirs.

The Avengers for breaking up, Loki for not telling them, and most of all, Thanos’ for starting this in the first place.

“In case you have forgotten,” said Loki, eyebrows arching as Steve was roused from his thoughts, “I was prevented from speaking quite quickly after my mind was my own again.”

Point.

“Then tell us now,” he suggested imploringly.

Loki sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in something resembling exasperation. “An alternate timeline—”

“Yeah, we know,” Steve interrupted smoothly. “If you make too many of them then the whole universe basically collapses. But we only made two, so nothing is collapsing anytime soon. As far as we’re concerned, the alternates can diverge as much as they like now without any effect on our timeline. So yeah, tell us.”

“You would not believe me,” Loki replied with a shake of his head. His eyes fell closed, and his expression morphed into something unrecognizably forlorn. “Perhaps in your future, you do because you know what is at stake, but not _now,_ not in this timeline. _”_

“Give us a little credit. We managed to beat you, didn’t we?”

“You managed to defeat me _with my help,”_ Loki amended, eyes narrowed.

“Yeah, I thought so. Don’t really think you wanted to rule.”

“I don’t.” Loki got to his feet, if a little shakily. “Besides,” he added on a lighter note, “your planet’s food is much better than Asgard’s.”

“Oh, really?” asked Steve, raising one eyebrow and lowering the other.

“Yes. There is not nearly so much variety anywhere else in the Nine.”

“You’ve been to Earth before?”

“Of course. My last visit was about a century ago.” He looked at Steve, puzzled. “Why?”

Steve hummed. “The food’s gotten much better in only the past seventy years.” Remembering the forties, Steve thought back on their food. That was where he felt he belonged, but he couldn’t argue that the food had much improved since that time. They used to boil _everything,_ and ‘everything’ only included carrots, potatoes, and—if they were lucky—some dry tasteless chicken. War did not exactly come with a variety of meal options. “I can only imagine what it was like a century ago.”

When Thanos snapped, he didn’t just take half of all intelligent life, he took half of all _living creatures._ Domesticated and undomesticated animals alike suffered, and—with half of the farmers gone—meat and produce production plummeted. It had been years since they had eaten a meal that was more than non-perishables.

Actually… if there weren’t any consequences for it… why not?

“Perhaps I will have to try it again then,” Loki said, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Have you ever had shawarma?” asked Steve, sifting through the pockets of his jacket for any bills or coins. In the chaos after the first snap, the value of money crashed, and he was left with hundreds of bills that were worth next to nothing. Of course, governments (idiots all) decided the best possible choice was to print more money. Steve could speak from personal experience when he said _that_ would never work. Then everyone was brought back, and the value of currency started slowly returning to normal, but it wasn’t quite there yet. So, if the cashier didn’t notice the date, he could very well get away with taking advantage of the timely exchange rate.

Loki only looked confused. “I can’t say that I have,” he said, eyebrows narrowing at him.

“Want to try some?” Steve suggested. “There’s a place I know a couple of blocks from here that’s still open.” Why the shawarma restaurant had been open in 2012 _during an alien invasion,_ he did not know and likely never would. But it was.

Steve watched the perplexed look on Loki’s face grow as he shrugged. “Why not.” Another hand motion, and Loki was dressed in similar casual clothing—a plain white shirt, a navy-blue hoodie, and jeans—which Steve had to admit looked more than a little strange on him.

As they approached the restaurant, Steve began to wonder if they only opened because of Tony. After all, he was Iron Man and famous around the world. Though, his suspicions proved false as they entered and took their seats at one of the empty tables. There was another couple in there, calmly eating a meal in the back, and the employees were currently trying to clean up the worst of the mess. 

Steve went to the counter, and after a brief look at the menu, ordered a beef one for himself. Loki requested a vegetable-filled dish. He paid with his bills, silently praying that they did not inspect the date, but they were mostly small amounts and the cashier seemed more confused that anyone was in the store than anything else to be concerned with the money. As he retook his seat at the table, he gave a small laugh. Captain America just committed a crime.

_Not for the first time._

“What?” Loki asked skeptically, leaning forward with his elbows on the table. The table rocked slightly with the weight shift.

“That money’s from several years in the future,” he whispered in response. “I think that’s fraud.”

Seeing the irony, Loki smirked and released a small chuckle. 

Steve was slightly surprised that Loki was still _functional_ at this point. After receiving a slamming from the Hulk and whatever the Sceptre had done to him before all of this, the god shouldn’t have been standing, but he _was._ His cheekbones jutted out in a way that Steve noticed was greatly different from his 2023 counterpart. The Avengers hadn’t known what “healthy” was for Loki, but Steve did _now,_ and he was sure the guy needed a long rest and something to eat.

The food came, smelling absolutely _heavenly,_ and they ate in silence. Steve expected Loki to eat like Thor after the battle, but he was neat, didn’t eat quickly, and removed the dirty napkins and wrapping paper when they were done with another hand motion that sent them off to _somewhere._ The shawarma was almost nostalgic; he had missed tasty food.

“You should be going, Captain,” said Loki frankly as they walked out of the restaurant.

“Yeah, you’re probably right about that,” Steve agreed. It was only a matter of time before the Avengers or the military found them, and he did _not_ want to attempt to explain that he was from a different time.

“Thank you,” Loki sighed. He halted in the middle of the empty streets, looking around at the surrounding skyscrapers, some of which had chunks of concrete smashed right off them.

Steve shrugged. “It’s no problem. It’s been a while since I’ve had good food anyway.”

“For winning,” Loki corrected, green eyes meeting his. “Victory against him always comes at a high cost.” He stared off to the left, then back down to the pavement. _What did it cost you?_

Steve smiled sadly, and replied, “It did.” Natasha’s death still stung, as did Tony’s, but at least they had a chance of bringing her back. Well, Steve thought so, at least.

 _A soul for a soul,_ Clint had explained, and Steve went on to theorize that maybe, just _maybe,_ that trade worked both ways. He could try, in any case. 

There was no harm in just _trying._

Loki’s head jerked up to him. He nodded shakily, quietly. “Thank you,” he said softly. “There must be some way I can repay—”

“Tell us,” Steve suggested, cutting in.

“I’m sorry?”

“Tell us about him. We destroy ourselves in a few years. The Avengers break up over infighting and—” he cut himself off; the details were irrelevant. His eyes wandered to the ground, then back to Loki’s beseeching expression. “Look, the point is that we have a shot at taking him down before all that; before Asgard is destroyed—” Loki _flinched_ “—before he gets the Power Stone or any of the others. _Give us that shot,”_ Steve pleaded, returning the backpack to his shoulders.

Loki hesitated for one moment. Two. Three. “I will,” he agreed with no small amount of reluctance from what Steve could tell; his face was completely blank.

Steve entered the next time into the device on his wrist and said: “Good luck.”

“Likewise, Captain. Safe travels.”

Steve pressed the button to whisk him away to the next time, feeling the ground fall out from underneath him.

* * *

The Avengers arrived at the shawarma place within the next five minutes. Barton was perched on the roof of the building directly in front of him. He could sense an arrow pointed in his direction. They had the area surrounded by a steady perimeter of police, the army, and UN forces that arrived shortly after the portal had been closed.

He had made a good choice in New York as his target. If the humans had not been so stupid as to attempt to blow up their own city, and if Stark had not been so decisive as to send the weapon through the portal, the battle would have _dragged._ If it had gone on for longer than expected, Loki had been relying on Earth’s international forces to make an appearance, and even after the battle was over, they did not disappoint.

He was sitting on the side of the street, contemplating whether he should get another ‘shawarma’. However, it likely would not be wise to eat so much after such a long time without doing so. Perhaps another time. That is if he was not thrown in Asgard’s dungeons immediately upon his return.

He spotted the Captain attempting to hide behind a pile of rubble, and Stark coming in from the left. The assassin was missing, as was his brother and the green rage monster that had freed his mind from the Titan. It left him bruised, and his whole torso was still knitting itself back together, but it was so _worth it_ to have his mind be his own again.

Stark, protected by his suit of metal armour, landed a short distance in front of him, pavement cracking underneath the force of the boots. “All right Reindeer Games,” he declared loudly enough for everyone else to hear. His voice was distorted and choppy through the face plate. “You’ve lost. Hand over the Sceptre and the Tesseract, and we’ll let you go back to Asgard in one piece.”

Loki smirked and stood carefully, slowly, feeling the bones grind against one another. He sent a small flicker of seiðr through his body, just enough to take the edge off. He could _do that_ now.

Both the Sceptre and the Tesseract currently had a home in his dimensional pocket. The Sceptre, he was more than willing to hand over. The Tesseract, less so. 

He flicked his left hand, and less than a moment later, the Sceptre appeared. Stark jumped, and Loki quickly shrank it down to a more manageable length, metal shifting in his hand. The mortal raised his hands, the small lights in the centre of his palms lighting up as he did. Loki raised his right hand to indicate a sort-of-surrender, and floated the Sceptre over to Stark slowly, blunt end first. 

Stark took it without hesitation. “Thanks. The Tesseract?”

Loki shook his head. If the Titan came for him, worldwalking would only get him so far, especially if the damage to his seiðr could not be reversed. He would need the Tesseract if he were to run. Then again…

_“Tell us.”_

_“Tell us about him.”_

_“We have a shot at taking him down before that.”_

_“Give us that shot.”_

“I still need it,” he said adamantly, gathering his magic and preparing for a fight that he did not want at all. He wanted to sleep, eat, then _go home._ This confrontation had not been on the agenda, but… 

_“Tell us.”_

_“Give us that shot.”_

“I don’t think so,” Stark scoffed. The Captain, the Widow, and Thor all removed themselves from their various hiding places and joined him. “You can give it to us, or we can take it.”

Loki wanted to laugh. Unless any of them had access to seiðr and the knowledge of how to use it, there was no way for them to get it. Of course, they could probably torture him until he gave it up—Loki shuddered at the thought—but he had been through worse, and he would not break before mere mortals. “In that endeavour, I wish you the best of luck,” Loki said smoothly.

“Brother,” cautioned Thor with his Mjölnir in hand. He pushed Stark out of the way and moved to grab at him. Loki threw up a quick shield and Thor’s hand slammed into the barrier with a small ripple in the air. His voice rang with exasperation and anger as he said: “You have lost. This is fruitless. Give up the Tesseract and _come home.”_

_Sounds agreeable._

“Your army is destroyed, you have nothing. _You lost.”_

This time Loki did laugh, if only lightly because the ache in his chest had not become ignorable. “‘I lost’?” he repeated, coming to a decision ( _Tell us_ ). “Everything went exactly according to plan. That is until the Tesseract landed at my feet. Can’t say I was expecting that.”

“Stop lying,” Thor growled and threw his hand against the shield again, gaze cold and unfeeling. “You are defeated.”

“Yet, I still won,” Loki said, smiling mirthlessly, though he allowed his voice to betray nothing.

“Stop speaking in riddles!”

“That’s in my nature, unfortunately.”

“What do you mean, ‘you still won’?” That was the Widow. She had an unreadable blank expression on her face that made Loki more than a little uncomfortable. The shield held and nothing that the mortals could do would be able to break it. Even if she or any of the others were to try to attack him, they would not be able to. Perhaps hiding behind his magic was cowardly—Thor would certainly say so—but he preferred to remain alive, thank you very much.

Loki sighed. Was it really this difficult for them to understand? They fought off the worst invasion plan in the history of the Nine Realms. He was considered among the best strategists within those same realms. It wasn’t all that hard to piece together. Even the primitive mortals should have been able to figure it out. “You won, so I won. Simple. I was playing to lose.”

“Nice try,” Stark said distrustfully through his metal mask. “We’re not falling for that. Hand over the Tesseract.”

“No,” Loki said firmly and crossed his arms protectively across his chest. Worldwalking was out of the question until his magic replenished; he would have to rely on the Tesseract if the shield broke, and they tried to harm him, and he would rather not send such a flare to the Titan, declaring his movements.

“Fine then,” Stark sneered. “Guess we’ll have to make you.” The others backed off as the Iron Man took a few steps backward himself. A second later, Loki could only see fire and debris. The shield kept him safe. There was very little they could do to get him out. He could hold this for hours ( _probably_ ) if he wanted to. And that was if he didn’t use the Tesseract to run first.

_“There will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice where he can't find you.”_

_“You think you know pain?”_

_“He will make you long for something as sweet as pain.”_

So, running wasn’t a permanent option. But it was _an_ option.

Stark eventually ran out of ammunition, and the flames dissipated.

“By all means,” Loki said, grinning widely. “Feel free to get it out of your system.”

Thor roared and charged with Mjölnir. The hammer slammed down on the shield. Admittedly, Loki nearly lost his hold on it, but quickly recovered. When the lightning struck, he was ready, and used the power to strengthen the shield instead of weaken it, redirecting the energy in a move that took skill, but not energy. He was as familiar with his brother’s power as he was with his own. This was almost second nature, like siphoning off Thor’s extra energy in battle as it coursed through the fields.

“Are you quite done?” he asked, looking only amused at their efforts.

“You coward,” Thor taunted, glaring intensely. Oh, so he was trying his hand at goading. That was _Loki’s_ move. “Come out here and fight.”

Loki shook his head slowly. “I think not.” There was a small crater around the shield and Loki carefully stepped out of it towards his brother. “Are you ready to listen to reason or would you prefer to continue your useless assaults on the shield?”

“He can’t stay in there forever,” Rogers said to his teammates. “We can just wait him out.”

Loki smirked, looking at the face of the man who had _just_ given him the Tesseract and the Sceptre. Only, they were no longer the same person. This present version was abjectly unaware of what was to come, and the future version was haunted by all that could happen. He could see it in the difference of their eyes. “No. I could hold this for days,” he replied, gesturing to the shield.

He could very much _not_ hold it for days. Not with his magic weakened through damage and overuse, and not while it was currently occupied with healing him. The food helped, but there was only so much it could do.

“We can wait for days,” the Widow countered, voice cutting and smooth. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Loki breathed, annoyed. These idiots. “I have the Tesseract. I can leave whenever I want. I am only here because I want to be.”

“But, _are you?_ Here, I mean?” asked Thor. Turning to the other Avengers, he explained: “This could be an illusion.”

“Like in Stuttgart,” added Stark. “M’kay. Fine. I’ll bite. Why are you sticking around?”

Loki breathed deeply and tried not to shudder.

_“You think you know pain?”_

_“He will make you long for something as sweet—”_

_“—Tell us.”_

_“Give us that shot.”_

“You have no reason to trust me. But brother, I need to tell you something of great importance, and for once in your life, you need to believe me. Half on the universe depends on it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will let your imaginations fill in the rest. Or, I’m sure, there’s plenty of fanfic out there with a similar concept.
> 
> Thanks for reading! I can’t believe I actually made it this far, honestly. I intended for Another Name to be a one-shot as I worked on some other projects, but wow. I’m amazed that I got any reads at all, so thank you so much for that!
> 
> I'm finished with this series, I think. I like how it ended. But I'm not done writing. There are two more works posted/to be posted today, and more to come!
> 
> I'm doing a little writer's commentary on [Tumblr](https://sundial-at-night.tumblr.com/) a little later today if anyone's interested.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


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